


Beware the Dog

by Thatlassiegotglassed



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Backstory, Brotp, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not her-she'd never hurt you. You should beware the dog-in me." My take on the story we can only dream about. Tig and Kozik, their beloved Missy and what happens when you let yourself love something unconditionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Prologue

A yell ripped him from his cool sheets and peaceful sleep. Well, about as peaceful as one can get after a whole bottle of Patrone. He sat straight up—the small, dark room, stuffy even with the box fan in the corner on full blast. The one thing he always hated about California. The yell came again—deep and throaty—and it was like taking a cheese grater to his heart. He skipped dressing, the shorts were enough, and was down the hall as fast as he could move.

The door at the end of the hall was closed and he sent a quick prayer upward that it wasn't locked. Gemma would be pissed if he had to kick it in—she already had two new coffee tables on order for last week's brawl that he honestly could not remember who started. He tried the handle and it moved easily.

"Tig?"

The bedside lamp was on and a topless blonde was kneeling over his best friend, worry written on her face smudged with last night's make up. She looked up as Kozik walked in and bit her lip—seeming oblivious to the fact that he had a perfect view of her tits.

"I don't know—he just keeps making noise." She moved aside so he could come to the edge of the bed. "Is he dreaming?"

Kozik shook his head. Tig wasn't dreaming. Quite frankly, he didn't know if the man ever did—but dreaming was not the word for what this was. Tig's black curls were plastered to his head as droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead. Goosebumps had broken out on his bare chest and arms, almost like he was fighting the worst of fevers.

The sheets were balled at his side and Kozik knocked them to the floor in order to take his friend by the shoulders. "Tig?" he said steadily. "Hey man—come on."

He turned to ask the hooker to leave right as a fist collided with his jaw. Tig's right hook was nasty even when he was asleep and knocked him on his ass beside the bed. The blonde screamed as Kozik spat on the floor and rubbed his face—thank god Tig had taken his rings off before bed.

"You might wanna-" he gestured to the door and she hurried out, still practically naked and most likely into the arms of another club member—he had bigger problems than a frightened piece of ass.

He cracked his neck and stood again—Tig was still making noise, quiet whimpers followed by gravely groans that sounded painful, breath coming a little too fast. Kozik tried again. He kept back about an arms length and nudged the sleeping man between the shoulders, pushing the unruly black hair back from his ears and speaking quietly.

"Man, come on. It's me." No response. He was half tempted to throttle him until he woke up, perhaps beat him with a pillowcase like when they were young, but he refrained. Never wake a sleep walker, right? This had to be along those same rules. Hell if he knew.

"Need help, Ko-zee?" A thick Scottish accent said from the doorway. Chibs tucked a cigarette behind his ear and let his hands rest on his hips, ready to lend a hand.

"No, I got this."

"Want me to call Clay?"

"I said I got this!" Kozik snapped as Tig growled again.

Chibs raised his hands in slight defense. "Just a suggestion."

Kozik sighed and nodded, his own small apology. He liked the Scot—probably the most out of any of the others—and he was just trying to help.

"I got this, thanks." He stopped as Chibs started to turn and rubbed the back of his neck. "Um—there's a naked blonde running around somewhere—make sure she's okay."

Chibs smirked—the scars on each cheek dimpling as he gave a nod. "Aye, now that I can handle."

Kozik shook his head and ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair. He thought about his next move as Tig jerked and gripped the pillow. He desperately did not want to be punched again.

He held his jaw and hurried to the door, putting fingers in his mouth and letting out a short high pitched whistle. "Miss-hay!" he called and there was a pause before the sound of thick nails fighting for traction on the hardwood brought a smile to his face.

A tan and black bundle of energy barreled down the hall towards him, tongue flapping, ears standing tall and Kozik gave her a quick pat before moving out of her way. He pointed to the bed and snapped his fingers. "Get him," he said gently and she was all too happy to comply.

The German Shepard ran at the bed and bounced on the mattress, nose-diving under Tig's pillow and waggling her butt as if they were playing hide and seek. She stayed still, determined to have him notice her, but when Tig didn't move, she plopped her head on his chest. She whimpered—licking his face and nudging his cheek with her leathery nose.

Kozik chuckled. She knew how to work her old man, that was for sure. She practically had Gemma beat when it came to that skill.

Tig opened his eyes slowly, a confused expression fading to one of affection as he nosed her back. "Hey baby," he said gruffly, giving her a scratch behind the ears.

Delighted at his undivided attention, she nosed her way under his arm and stretched the length of his body, tucking her tail along his hip. She knew—she always did—and Kozik smiled a little sadly. As he shifted, it drew Tig's attention away from Missy and he looked at him with another confused face—dark eyebrows pulling together.

"What are you—Is something wrong?" he glanced at the clock, no doubt wondering what club shit had gone down in the middle of the night and if it required dragging his ass from the comfort of his battered mattress. They both looked to the red glow of the bedside clock—4 AM—this time of night should not fucking exist.

Tig sat up and scratched his chest, running both hands through his hair and carefully trying not to disturb Missy.

"It happened again didn't it?" he asked. Kozik nodded. He gestured to Kozik's head, spotting the split lip. "And that?"

"Nah—this-" Kozik touched it, heat pulsating from the shallow cut and he fought back a wince. "No, this—I-"

"You're a shitty liar." He ran a hand over Missy's fur and watched his fingers part lines down her back.

A silence fell and Kozik contemplated slipping out the door while Tig was somewhat distracted. His friend, a man not known for his particularly warm demeanor, nuzzled the dog, nose to nose and pulled back with a scrunched face.

"Jesus—she smells like bourbon."

Kozik chuckled and crossed his arms over his flat chest. "Wonder where she gets that from?" he asked arbitrarily.

Tig continued to rub Missy, shaking her head back and forth between his hands and speaking to her directly. "Was it top shelf? It better be. None of that shit behind the counter Piney gives to his second-rate hookers."

Missy barked and apparently that was a 'yes' because Tig praised her again and tucked her under his arm, wiping a bit of dust off her nose. He spoke to her like he would a person. Not like one coos at a child but as if her chocolate eyes could comprehend everything he said. And who knew, she probably could. It made Kozik smile again.

With a bite of his lip, Kozik did slip out into the hallway-silently pulling the door closed behind him while Tig was distracted. It went without being said—this wouldn't be the last time he was pulled from sleep to come to the rescue of a man who would never need it outside the world of his own nightmares.

Kozik passed the Scot's room—hearing a feminine giggle and a stereotypical "Aye Lassie" from behind the door—at least someone was having a good time. Alone once again, in his own room, he curled under his patchwork quilt and hoped for sleep but received nothing but worry.


	2. Smarter Than Most

Chapter 2:

Clanking and cursing were the main sources of noise to come from behind the walls of the Teller-Morrow garage. Today was no different as Tig threw the wrench to the ground and fought the urge to put his foot through the 4-cylinder engine that was causing him grief. Hand swollen from the night before, he was having a rough time getting his knuckles under the piston and this was the third time he had nearly smashed his first two fingers. He needed those.

It was Friday, and he had big plans for the bar in town and the strip joint that had opened up right on the outskirts of Charming. Hooray for the fucking weekend.

“Fucking—just dammit—bitch.” He wiped his hands on a ratty shop towel and threw a handful of insults at the chrome as he fished in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes.

As soon as the cigarette caught, he felt his shoulders droop a little. He took a deep breath and rubbed his brow on his forearm—feeling instantly better.

“Hey, Tig. Need a hand?”

Tig took another drag before forcing his eyes open. The prospect in front of him was far too perky; he came to about Tig's shoulder and his sandy brown hair and pigeon chest would not make it the full year of initiation—he was sure of it. But the kid had begged and Clay had given in, sending him into the arms of Bobby to toughen up. What was his name? Jason maybe?

“Sure.” He tapped the end of the cigarette on the top of his tool box gently, dropping the rest in his shirt pocket for later. “Bring me a 10 inch crescent wrench. I think Clay jacked mine.”

The kid nearly wet himself with the realization that Tig had spoke to him, let alone given him a task and nodded till Tig was sure his brain would rattle loose. Missy lounged beside his tool chest, thick, rubber toy held daintily between her paws while she ravaged it with her teeth. Tig rubbed behind her ears and hoped she wasn't laying in a puddle of motor oil—cleaning it out of her fur was a bitch.

He admired her markings, letting the shop behind him crumble away—things had a way of doing that when she was around. And yet, she didn't even look up, continuing to chew and oblivious to the fact that she was the only thing holding him solid. After Kozik had left the night before, Tig had curled around Missy and laid awake until his alarm had forced him out to the garage. Missy had slept like a log, snoring quietly and allowing him to use her as protection from the nightmares that lay behind his eyelids.

“Here, got it.”

Tig looked up and felt his lip curl in a particularly nasty way as he looked at the socket wrench in the kid's hand. Clearly not what he had asked for.

“Oh really?” he said with a bite of snark at the end.

The kid's confidence vanished as he looked at the tool and bit his lip. “Uh—well--It's--”

Tig shook his head and looked back down without another word to the prospect. He took the toy from Missy gently and made her focus. “Hey,” he snapped his fingers and she sat up obediently. “Go get daddy a 10-inch.” She cocked her head to the side and he repeated a little louder and snapped in the direction of the back of the shop. “10-inch.”

She trotted off to the back and both men waited for her return. While the prospect was gawking at Tig and clutching his pathetic little socket wrench, Tig saw Chibs meet Missy off to the side. The Scot stooped, put something in her mouth, and then winked over his sunglasses before walking towards the office.

The dog came back to her master, bursting with pride-- although she probably didn't understand why—as she dropped the tool in his open palm.

“But—she--” the kid sputtered as Missy swished her tail and panted up at him. “How did you--”

“Don't sweat it kid,” Tig said as he thumped the end of the wrench against the prospect's chest. “She's smarter than most people.” He pulled his half finished cigarette out of his shirt and patted his leg as Missy came to his side and followed him into the open lot.

“And get that piston off! Mrs. Whats-her-face will be here around noon and I'm not going to be the one to tell her it's not ready.” He chuckled, pleased with him self as well as happy he didn't have to deal with the piece of shit engine. Things were looking up.

* * *

  
“How's he doin', baby?”

Kozik jumped from his leaning spot on the wall next to the office of Teller-Morrow. Gemma's velvety voice came up behind him and she crossed her arms under her breasts, straining the buttons on her purple top that was just this side of too tight. He fought not to notice and turned his eyes back to the taller, blue eyed man at the edge of the lot—lighting up for the third time in almost 45 minutes.

He shook his head. “It's worse.”

“I figured as much,” Gemma stepped down from the office, using his shoulder for support as her boots hit the rougher concrete. “He's been a walking chimney all morning and the pussy that leaves his room, lately, has been less than satisfied.”Gemma adjusted her purse on her shoulder and kept her hand on Kozik's arm, eyes fixed gently on Tig. “I thought we were done with this shit?”

“He was,” Kozik rubbed his chin, stiff whiskers only noticeable when he ran his hand down his neck against the grain. “It always resurfaces when he talks to Colleen.”

Gemma cursed beside him, finally letting go to dig her own cigarettes out of her bedazzled black bag. Her bangles clinked against the side as she burrowed through the contents and Kozik glanced over at her.

“I heard him on the phone the other day—she's threatening to take the girls.”

“Hasn't she already?” Gemma mumbled.

Ever since Tig's last span in prison with Bobby and Piney, Colleen had gotten worse. Kozik didn't know the half of it, and quite frankly, he didn't want to. All he did know, was that it was eating his friend from the inside out.

“Well—but like for good this time. I don't know.” He rubbed his eyes and felt a weight settle in between his shoulder blades, like he shouldn't be talking about this with Gemma. She had a knack for storing the tiniest detail and using it to her advantage. “Look, I gotta--” He gestured to the shop and started to walk away when her voice brought him up short.

“And what about your little problem?” She threw her bag back over her shoulder, giving up the hunt for her smokes and eyed him like a hawk.

“What problem?” Kozik stopped and faced her again, eyebrow raised.

The side of her lip tilted up, a mix between amusement and stern mother-like authority. She stayed silent, brushing her dark hair back from her shoulder and making him increasingly uncomfortable with nothing more but her interrogating stare. When she finally walked up to him, nearly chest to chest, pressing close so she could lower her voice, he felt his body go rigid.

“He needs _you_ and this club needs _him_. And I need to know you'll have your hand around his and not around a teaspoon and a needle.”

Kozik stepped back suddenly. The urge to shove her from him strong enough that he clenched his fists at his sides. You never put hands on someone's old lady, and doing it to Gemma—well, Clay would have his head.

He stood and gaped at her, heart feeling like a rock in his chest and he shook his head hard enough it put a few wisps of hair in his eyes. “That's not me anymore, Gemma. Tig knows that—I wouldn't--”

“Good.” She cut him off giving him a pat on the arm and a satisfied smirk settling on her maroon lips. “Just checking, baby.” She slipped that word in at the end and he felt sick. He watched her walk away, swinging her hips like the deadly creature that she was. The way she could strike him then stroke him was mesmerizing—there was definitely a reason she was the queen.

Tig looked up as Gemma came to his side, pulling the keys to her Caddy out of her pocket and stopping to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Morning, sweetheart.” She brushed his curls back on one side with her free hand and he smiled back. Her fingers touched the healing gash on the side of his face and she frowned, probably realizing who had a hand in breaking the clubhouse coffee table.

“Hey—don't. You should see the other guy.” He chuckled and gave her arm a squeeze. She continued to thread her fingers through the edges of his hair and he sighed in content. “Where are you going?”

She stopped, hitting the button and unlocking the Cadillac with two short beeps. “Gotta go pick up a few things for the clubhouse.”

“Have the prospect do it,” Tig said.

“Nah. I need bird food for Louie and it's been awhile since I've had the Caddy to myself.” She smiled as he stepped up and opened the door for her. Gemma's car had been in the shop for the last few days and he and Chibs had spent plenty of their free time detailing the back. She swore it had been an accident when she backed it into the much smaller car of an ex-high-school girlfriend but Tig didn't buy it. However, he had ordered the paint and did the work for free—using it as an excuse to bond and drink with the Scot on Clay's property.

“Keep an eye on Clay for me. And don't let him trump through the papers in the office—I just sorted everything.”

“Yes ma'am.” He said with a nod as he closed her door. As she drove through the gate he couldn't help but shake his head—Clay had his hands full that one.

He stooped to pick up a stick at his feet and whistled as he flicked his wrist and sent it flying across the lot. Missy bounded after if happily, tongue flapping with each spring in her step. He was thankful his old lady was much less maintenance.

* * *

  
As the sun set hours later, Tig lowered the door on his section of the garage and heaved a sigh of relief. He had time to shower, put Missy in the house and head out for the night. Maybe he'd take Chibs and the new kid—he was sure they could teach him a thing or too, maybe even get him laid. He hadn't seen Kozik for at least an hour, he'd probably wind up skipping the shower just to hunt him down.

“You doing alright Tiggy?” Chibs said as he cupped his hands and lit a cigarette, his cheeks puffed slightly as it caught and Tig saw his scars move in and out with the motion.

He was tired, that was for sure—having not slept much in about a week-- his bad shoulder hurt like it always did when the weather was about to change, but all of that could be fixed at the bottom of a bottle. He planned on sleeping very well in about 5 hours.

“Yeah, I'm good. You want to come out with Kozik and I?” He said hooking his thumbs on the edge of his belt.

“Body shots at the Purple Hippo?” He flicked his ashes with a small orange glow as he looked up with a smile.

“You know it.” Tig nodded.

“Hmm—I'm game. First lap dance on you, eh? Since I am the guest.” He smirked and flinched back as Tig punched him in the arm. They shared a laugh until the office door slammed open and drew their attention.

Gemma stood in the doorway as a steaming Clay marched down the steps and headed towards them—hands clenched at his sides, black bandanna on, and his walk full of purpose. Chibs took another long drag before crushing the butt under his boot.

“Looks like we might have to reschedule.” He said quietly.

Tig's stomach sank at the thought of whatever shit Clay was about to throw at him interfering with his big plans. The problems in this god awful town never seemed to take a break. He reached down to rub his hand across Missy's ears, keeping his tone even as Clay approached.

“What's goin' on, boss?” he said as Clay pointed at him.

“I need you.” He did the same to Chibs and added, “Both of you. Find Bobby and get your bikes--”

Tig had to bite his lip to keep from flat out groaning like a disappointed child. “No, man—come on Clay, I w--”

“Mayans.”

Tig froze. All Clay had to utter was that one word and his mind changed gears. He took off his mechanic's shirt, knowing his kutte was in the truck and nodded. This wasn't an errand, this was business.


	3. The Purple Hippo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys investigate a tip from Unser. You guys ready for some sad bro time?

Chapter 3:

The Purple Hippo lived up to half of it's name. The brick building was wedged on the corner of some long abandoned street on the outskirts of Charming and it was, in fact, painted a bright, orchid-purple. However, there were no hippos in sight. The only animals here walked on two legs and jerked it in the corner to the techno rhythm while they got sloshed off 1-dollar jell-o shots. Basically, it was the classiest place this side of Oakland.

They pulled up one by one and parked their bikes in a line down by the far corner of the building. Tig walked his Dyna backwards and each deep grumble switched off in sequence, leaving the parking lot eerily silent except for the muffled thumping of the party behind them.

Tig stowed his helmet and gloves before rubbing a few stray dog hairs from his kutte. Gemma had offered to take Missy for “girl time”--whatever the hell that meant—so they could leave straight from the lot. Missy had jumped on him for a goodbye before hopping in the Caddy. He just hoped Gemma didn't try to paint her claws again, it was a nightmare to get off the first time.

“I don't see any bikes,” Kozik observed.

“Chibs--” Clay said, checking to make sure his piece was stuck securely in the small of his back. “Take Kozik and check the back.”

“Aye,” the Scot nodded and adjusted his kutte, making sure the leather did its best to hide the custom double holster he had strapped to his chest.

“What are we looking for, Clay?” Bobby said as he struggled to keep his jeans up over his growing beer belly. His scraggly hair was getting out of hand and was in desperate need of a trim, but Tig imagined he didn't have time. The club hadn't seen him in almost a week as he ran from gig to gig to help pay the shady lawyer handling his second divorce—he looked tired.

“Got a tip from Unser,” Clay started as they walked up the path to the front door. “The new Prez' might have started his own little prostitution ring.”

“Jesus,” Tig snarled. “In Charming?” Anyone who had any sense knew better than to pull something so ballsy—for over three decades, Charming belonged to the Sons. The new President of the Mayans was either very stupid or—no, there was no 'or', he was stupid.

“And where there is illegal pussy,” Clay started.

“It's bound to be coated in gutter-glitter.” Bobby finished.

There was only one way to find out. With silent agreement the three of them walked up the small ramp to the purple velvet coated door. Tig went first.

He had been in numerous strip joints and this was like any of the others. The first thing he always noticed was how dark it was—walking slower just to give his eyes the extra moments to adjust. The lights on the stage and placed strategically over the bar allowed little sight past one's knees—which was always a good thing. No one wanted to know what was on the floor of some of these places.

The main stage in the middle of the room was a round dais connected to a runway, and was disappointingly vacant. The two side stages were occupied by two slow moving newbies—girls not even half naked and most likely new enough that they had not earned the right to wrap their legs around the main pole.

It was too early for it to be packed and a few stragglers ordered their drinks and claimed their dark corners to wait for the show to really start.

“I don't see any colors.” Bobby said, sliding on his reading glasses to battle the low light.

“Yeah, better head to the back. Check on Chibs and Blondie.” Clay mumbled and they both moved towards the bar.

Tig stayed put—fists clenching as a busty redhead passed by him with a tray. She smelled like cotton candy, sweet and sickening but begging to be licked. She glanced at his kutte and held the tray down, pressed against her stomach in a way that almost pushed her breasts up out of her top.

“Can I get you something, big boy?” She smiled—eyes hovering over his 'Sergeant at Arms' patch. Each member of the club knew the kutte was a better pussy magnet than the most expensive of sports cars, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't used it as such more than once.

“Nah, doll. Maybe later.” He sent her on her way, surprised at his own restraint and Bobby chuckled.

“What are you thinkin', Tigger?”

“That getting my dick sucked sounds a lot more fun than looking for a bunch of Mexi-assholes.” He paused to stand on his toes and adjust the front of his jeans before nodding to the back of the club. “Let's go.”

They barely made it passed the bar before two large men stepped out of the back room. Their eyes widened in panic before they spoke in rapid Spanish and pulled their guns. So much for being subtle. Tig pulled first, faster than the other two by a mile and aimed between the bigger one's eyes.

“Don't do it,” he said sternly over the music.

The Mayan was jittery—hand around his gun shaking as his eyes darted between his partner and Tig. He had to be a newly patched member or else he was tripping on something. His arm jerked and he squeezed. The bullet sounded like a bomb going off inside the concrete walls and Tig's ears started ringing as soon as he ducked.

The handful of people in the club scrambled for the door as the cotton-candy-waitress screamed and practically tripped over Bobby, rendering him useless. Tig fired and took out both men at the kneecaps, painful as hell and enough to make them both forget about their guns as they dropped like a puppet with it's strings cut. A few shots fired from the back and Tig stood back up ready to sprint at Clay's instruction.

The bartender reached for the phone and Clay put his large hand on the receiver. “Nah-ah. I wouldn't do that.”

Bobby untangled himself from the redhead and shoved her in the direction of the door as the place emptied. “Where the hell is Chibs? He's more skilled at handling distressed pussy.” Bobby joked as he sucked the back of his hand and shook it out—scratches appearing where she had clutched him like a maniac.

“It's a Scottish thing, broth-ah.” Chibs said as he pushed passed the doorway curtain and threw another Mayan at Tig's feet. He tossed a dime bag of coke on the bar and pushed his hair back from his face. “About 200 of these in the back. Small scale but has potential. No sign of a pussy trade, but that doesn't mean anything.”

Bobby walked forward and dipped his finger in the bag before touching it to the tip of his tongue. “Whew—shit. That's good stuff.” He nodded to Clay before stepping back so their President could get to the men on the floor.

The youngest one with the shaky trigger finger was holding his knee and mumbling rhythmically as blood started to seep though his fingers. Tig smirked—he'd got him good.

Clay crouched and cracked his knuckles. “You dealing in Charming?”

The Mayan kept mumbling in a language none of them spoke. Tig assumed he was praying—wise choice, the bastard would need all the help he could get.

Clay punched him square in the face and he shut up. He waited till he raised his head once more before asking again, “Listen—amigo.” He spat and the guy looked him in the face. “Are you dealing in my town?”

The Mayan shook his head over and over, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he desperately wanted to give Clay whatever he asked for despite the language barrier. Clay had heard enough—the evidence was there and he stood. He nodded to Chibs and Kozik.

“Kill 'em. Leave one alive to send a message to our resident Mexi-prince.”

Chibs and Kozik each fired one shot into the heads of the other men on the floor—quick and clean. The third one slumped—passed out and likely scared shitless. Clay hopped up on the bar stool and took out a fat cigar, popping it between his lips and striking a match.

He puffed, smoke curling around the stogie like a stocky dragon before removing it and continuing his orders. “Burn the bodies. And dump that sack of shit on the Napa border. And when you do,” He picked up the bag of coke, tied it and tossed it to Chibs. “Give him a good sugar coating.”

Clay smiled around his cigar—a look that was all teeth and pure joy and Tig felt himself chuckle. They would get the message.

As soon as they moved to gather the bodies the screech of a stacking chair being tripped over brought their attention to the right. They all turned, eyes on a small, scantily clad blonde who froze like a rabbit in a snare. She pushed the chair to the side and sprinted for the door but Tig closed the gap easily, wrapping his hand around her throat and pulling her back from the exit.

She fought, but he had over a foot height on her and held her easily as he drug her backwards into the club. She gripped his hand around her neck, he wasn't choking her, it was nothing more than a convenient handle.

“Shit.” Bobby mumbled and Clay stood from the bar.

“What did you hear?” Tig barked at her and she started sobbing, holding onto him and shaking her head over and over. “Answer me!”

Kozik shifted uncomfortably as he put his gun away and stepped over the two dead Mayans. No one else moved as Tig turned her around to face him—he would handle it, he always did.

She stopped struggling, smart enough to know that she was overpowered by a long shot and settled for pushing her fingers between his hand and her neck for reassurance that he wouldn't snap it. Mascara trailed down her face as huge tear drops rolled off of her chin and landed on her upper chest.

“Nothing. I heard—I didn't hear anything.” She sobbed as he pulled her to his face, her feet barely on the ground anymore.

“She's gonna be a problem.” Bobby said quietly as he looked at Clay, prompting guidance from their silent leader.

“No she's not.” Tig growled and released her neck. He spun her by the hair and put pressure on the back on her legs, sending her to her knees on the club floor. She whimpered quietly until he stuck the barrel of his gun inside her mouth—then she started screaming.

Nobody moved to stop him as he clicked the hammer back and she shrieked around the metal and looked up at him with big eyes. He felt his own grow cold as the world around him fell away and he entered that special place before a kill. He gripped the top of her hair so he wouldn't hit his own hand and steadied his arm before--

“Tig!”

Tig looked up, breathing slightly labored, like a lion preparing for a fight. Kozik moved up to him and shook his head slowly.

“Don't do it, man.” He said quietly.

The girl closed her eyes, breathing through her mouth around the gun, trying to keep her lips from touching it as much as possible. Her high pitched cries were short and disturbing in the now silent club. Tig looked at his friend and realized he didn't know how much time had passed between now and when he put the girl on her knees. It was as if he blanked—only to resurface when Kozik said his name. It scared him. But he kept his face rock-solid and adjusted his grip on the gun.

He looked at Clay—who offered no help as he leaned on the bar and was entirely too focused on the smoldering ash hanging off the end of his cigar. Kozik said his name again and his attention was back to where it should be.

“Don't.” Was all he said as he reached forward and put his hand around Tig's wrist. He didn't squeeze, his hand nothing more than a gentle weight as he guided Tig's hand and the gun out of the girl's mouth. As soon as the gun passed her lips, she fell to all fours and continued her muffled sobs.

Tig opened his mouth but no words came out so he closed it, and Kozik nodded again saying quietly, “I know.”

When Kozik released him, his hand fell to his side. Kozik pulled the stripper up by her arm and shoved a twenty-dollar bill in her hand. “Get a cab. Get the fuck out of here. And you didn't see shit.”

He pushed her hard in the direction of the door—adding one last scare as she nodded rapidly and left the club in a blur, slamming the door behind her. Silence fell between them all as Clay pushed away from the bar and stopped in front of Kozik.

He took a breath before saying deeply, “If she rats—I'll have your patch.” He pointed back in the direction of Chibs and the bodies. “Now do what I told you.”

“Understood.” Kozik nodded quietly. Tig felt like he might throw up as his friend walked passed him without so much as a second look. He should say something—thank him, tell Clay to lay off, any of that sympathetic bullshit that Kozik loved as much as good scotch. But nothing came out.


	4. No More Than Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozik has always been a talker. Missy has always been a cuddler. And Tig has a weak spot for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So forgot to mention--I have an awesome beta in the form of Chibsfuckingtelford.tumblr.com. She's great and is the reason your chapters are mistake free and coming out so quickly. Enjoy!

Chapter 4:

Tig had picked up Missy and thankfully her claws were not “Kiss Me Red”, which was apparently Gemma's color of choice lately. Both girls were lounged on the couch and Gemma had shoved her off gently as soon as Clay had walked in the door. He was almost certain the man of the house had seen it but he didn't say anything. Whatever Gemma wanted—she got.

Now that he was home, he plopped on the porch swing without even bothering to flip on the porch light. As Missy sniffed around the yard, he snapped off his wrist cuffs and laid them on the glass end table, rubbing his eyes and rocking slowly, his whole body thanking him for finally settling down. Now if he could just make it down the hall and into bed—it seemed so far away.

He must have dozed off because he jumped when he heard the unmistakable roar of a Harley coming down his driveway.

Missy barked and bounded across the yard as Kozik parked and flicked off his headlight, the dying engine letting the crickets be heard once again in the California heat. The only light was the half-moon that hung low in the sky and gave everything a silvery tint.

“Jesus Christ, why are you sitting in the dark like a gargoyle?” Kozik called as he swung his leg off of his bike and started for the porch.

“The porch light is all the way over there.” He said simply, as if that justified his laziness.

All the boys constantly complained that he lived in the middle of nowhere but he didn't see the problem. He didn't have an old lady or kids in the house, so no one to commute for, and on the nights he worked or had club business, he just crashed in his room at the clubhouse. It was dark, it was quiet, and he liked it. Plus, no one bothered Missy, which was more important than anything.

Kozik came close enough to be seen and Tig groaned. He had Missy in his arms like a giant child that was much too hairy and much too old to be carried. Her paws wrapped around his neck as she nosed his face gently, looking at Tig with what he swore was the most human-like grin she had ever given him, as if she knew he wouldn't scold her.

“Why do you do that, man? She's too big. You're going to spoil her.” Tig said sternly, his voice cracking at the end as the smile he was fighting broke out on his face.

“So?” Kozik bounced her up gently so he didn't lose his grip and she thumped her tail against his thigh with a rhythmic  _whump whump._  “And no, she's not too big. Are you, pretty girl? Are you?” She licked his face with enthusiasm as he turned his attention to her, pulling back, not wanting a face wash of drool.

They both chuckled. Kozik settled his head on the side of Missy's shoulder, face buried in her fur, his own hair almost a perfect match for the more golden parts of her chest. He sighed, finding comfort in the texture of her fur against his cheek. Tig knew what he was doing, because he did it about a hundred times a day. He finally put her on the ground, gently, and she bounced up the stairs.

Kozik followed, standing awkwardly at the mouth of the porch before hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “What happened back there?” He prompted quietly as Missy plopped to the floor beside Tig, bony elbows knocking on the wooden boards.

Tig did not feel like having this conversation, but of course Kozik would want to. He scratched his head with both hands, mussing his own hair and pulling just a little to wake up. He wanted a smoke. He wanted his bed. He wanted to be alone. And yet, he knew that last part wasn't entirely true.

“You want a beer?” he said when he finally removed his hands from his face and stood.

“Yeah,” Kozik answered.

Tig's house was surprisingly put together for a bachelor his age, who led his life. There was a coat rack that no one ever used but hey, he had it—that had to count for something. There was a rug in the hallway and a matching leather sofa set in the den. Everything in the rooms he loved most had splashes of blue in somewhat matching hues—he even had matching lamp shades. To Tig, it was homey and just about as classy as he got.

He tossed his keys, wrist cuffs and wallet in a bowl on the counter and went straight for the fridge. He had a 24-pack of some shitty silver-label boxed in the front and he shoved it to the back, instead, opting for the 6-pack of Grain Belt Premium. He handed a bottle to Kozik, who mumbled his thanks before opening the drawer with the bottle opener on the first try, like he lived there. Tig loosened the cap with the side of his largest ring before twisting it the rest of the way off.

“How'd you get here so fast?” Tig said, leaning against the counter.

Kozik rolled the bottle between his hands on the counter as if drinking the beer was a major life decision. “Bobby called in his prospect. Thought they'd teach him a thing of two.” He chuckled. “I'm sure burning dead Mexicans is just what the kid wants to do on a Friday night.”

“He better get used to it.” Tig said grumpily. Great—Chibs and Bobby had called the prospect, to not only do his job, but to send Kozik after him like a babysitter. Fucking perfect. “They must think I'm a nut job.” He said barely audible. He wasn't sure he gave his mouth permission to voice that concern and part of him hoped Kozik wouldn't hear it.

“No more than usual.” Kozik joked, smiling slightly.

Tig didn't think it was funny. He shoved away from his spot on the counter and walked around the island into the open living room.

“Come on, man. You know what I mean.” Kozik's smile left and he followed his friend.

Tig knew exactly what he meant. He was the pusher, the fixer; their resident bag of crazy that always got the job done and rolled in the blood until it was off of everyone's hands but his own. Surprisingly, that didn't make him feel any better. Imagine that.

“We're worried about you.  _I'm_  worried about you.” He added. “But you gotta tell me what's going on.”

Tig took a rather large drink of his beer and watched as Missy plopped on her giant, fluffy bed in the corner. A lot was wrong with him. So much that he wasn't sure where to fucking start and he wasn't good at the whole 'talking' thing—not like Kozik. He chose to stay quiet.

“Is it the dreams again?” Kozik offered.

Tig said nothing. That was one of the things, for sure. After their second tour of duty together, the dreams had started. Although he wouldn't call them dreams, more like nightmares, and it was even worse after he got out of prison six months ago. But what could he do about them? Missy was the only thing that somewhat helped.

“Is it the club?” Kozik tried again.

There were a couple people that would argue the club was a problem, but Tig would tell those people to go straight to Hell. After JT's death, and not long after he was patched in, Clay had made him Sergeant at Arms, and he finally felt like he had a job worth doing-- something that broke up the monotony of changing oil filters and rotating tires.

“Is it--” Kozik lowered his voice. “Is it Colleen?” He was suddenly very interested in downing the rest of his beer once he uttered the c-word and Tig clenched his teeth.

He had talked to Colleen in the last couple of days, and the fact that the bitch had such an effect on him that his brothers had noticed pissed him off more than he thought possible.

“The girls are getting big,” He said running his finger around the rim of the bottle. “Doubt they even know who I am.”

“Go see them.”

“She won't let me.”

“Have you tried?”

“I called.”

“You called? That's it?”

“Yeah.”

“Tig.” Kozik gave him a disappointed look.

“Jesus Christ, Koz, are you going to start charging me by the hour?” Tig stood up and went to get another beer. He had called—wasn't that enough? As soon as he said 'hello' Colleen had all but slammed the receiver down on him. Divorced a year and some change and he had spent most of it on the inside while she cleaned up the mess. He understood her anger but, dammit, he was angry too.

He grabbed two more bottles, giving one to Kozik before lounging on the leather loveseat and holding the unopened bottle to his chest with a sigh. 

Kozik didn't say anything. He just perched on the arm of the leather recliner and nudged Missy lovingly with the edge of his boot. She flopped on her side and rubbed her neck against his shoe with her eyes closed.

Tig felt the weight of what his friend wasn't saying pressing down on him like a boulder and he hated him for it. Hated how that blonde little punk could call him out on all of his bullshit without saying a goddamn word. But maybe he only felt this way because Kozik was right. They were his girls too. 

“Maybe I could go up on Sunday.” He grumbled, tossing the bottle cap on the coffee table. 

“The girls are going to be excited.” Kozik said. Tig opened his mouth to argue but Kozik continued, cutting him off without missing a beat. “Stop it. They know who their dad is.”

In some ways, that was exactly what Tig was afraid of. There was no telling what their mother had said about him, and it made his stomach turn to think about those tiny hands and adorable eyes hating him before they should even understand what hate was. 

Once he raised up, Kozik sat on the couch with a cushion between them, both men kicking off their boots and putting their feet on the coffee table in almost perfect unison. Both understood that the conversation was over. They finished the 6-pack and broke into the cheap stuff while they took turns flipping through the channels, pausing on crime dramas and commercials with busty advertisers. This was not what Tig had envisioned for his Friday night of glitter and debauchery, but somehow, this was even better. 

 

* * *

 

When Tig opened his eyes it was dark, and he wasn't entirely sure where he was. He was still fully dressed except for his boots and his kutte-- hell, he still had his rings on and he was very uncomfortable. The TV was on but muted, and by the multicolored glow he could tell he was in his own living room. That was a start at least.

He looked over and Kozik was passed out on his left. His friend had one leg flung over the arm of the couch and the other sprawled on the coffee table that was pulled flat against the cushion, legs spread like some sort of drunken hussie. Kozik's mouth hung open slightly as he snored the kind of snore that ensured the person was sleeping really well. Tig smiled.

Missy was on the cushion between them, curled in a ball with her tail and paws all tucked under her chin. Her ratty blanket was pulled up and slung sloppily in both of their laps, like she had made a feeble attempt to protect them from getting cold. He scratched her slowly so he didn't wake her up. 

“Thanks, baby.” He whispered.

He rolled on his back, draping his knees over the leather arm before settling his head on Missy's back haunch. Kozik had his hand resting on Missy's head-- both men connected by the animal between them. Tig chuckled to himself in the darkness as a thought crossed his mind—if Kozik tried to pet him, the kid was getting a black eye. 

He sighed and closed his eyes again. The sun was still down, but it was Saturday, and they had no where they needed to be. It wasn't until after he was almost asleep that he realized he hadn't had a single nightmare.


	5. The Tragers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you should give chibcfuckingtelford . tumblr. com some love. She has been working extra hard betaing a ton of chapters for this fic in a short period of time. And she is doing an amazing job. Enjoy guys.

Chapter 5:

Tig put his 2000-Jeep Sport in park and shut off the engine. The silence ate at him, making him nervous until Missy started panting in the front seat now that the air was off. He looked at her and reached out, twisting her collar until it was centered.

“We should go home.” He cranked down the window for some kind of ventilation while they were parked and added, “This is a bad idea. Don't you think?”

She just looked at him, tongue hanging out and big, brown eyes giving him the answer he did not want. When he didn't say anything else, she turned in the seat and stuck her nose out the crack in her own window, sniffing and drooling down the glass a little.

“You're no help.” He mumbled as he pulled out his Nokia and punched some buttons. He hated this new goddamn cellphone trend—Clay could insist they have them, but he didn't have to be happy about it. He held it to his ear and let it ring.

“Yeah?” Kozik answered after a handful of seconds.

“I'm at the house.” Tig said, pulling his knee up and leaning it against the steering wheel. He sunk down in his seat like he could make the entire vehicle disappear by slumping.

“What—do you want like a gold star or something?” Kozik retorted. “Sorry that was mean. I'm glad you went. Now go in.”

When he said it like that, Tig felt like an idiot. He, of course, did not drive all the way up to San Jose to sit in his car, but it sure as hell sounded better than facing his ex-wife. He leaned back on the head rest and sighed into the phone. The whirr of a drill could be heard on the other end and was followed by cursing.

“Where are you?” He raised an eyebrow even though Kozik couldn't see.

“Teller-Morrow.”

“It's Sunday.” Tig said, even more confused by that response.

“Clay called me in.”

Tig sat up and undid his seat belt, feeling his forehead crinkle as he spoke, “Tell him to fuck off, you don't work there.”

“No but you do.” Kozik said quietly and Tig stilled.

“Clay tried to call me in?”

“Yeah, must have been when you were passing through Watsonville. There's no goddamn service in the hills.” He set down something heavy and waited until he had both hands free again before continuing. “Look, I told him I'd handle it, okay? I'll be done in 40 minutes—tops.”

“I owe you.” Tig mumbled, not particularly happy about it.

“Not if you march your happy ass up that porch and see those girls. It's fine. Now, _go._ ” The line went dead as Kozik hung up on him. Punk. He couldn't help but feel like his debt to Kozik was piling up by the minute. The kid had chose to stick around—away from his brothers and life in Tacoma—for Tig. Kozik said it was because he missed the California scene or some bullshit like that but Tig knew the truth and he felt guilty.

He followed the landscaping path up to the porch, large boots barely fitting on the individually placed cobblestone. Missy sat beside him, tail wagging slowly as he knocked on the glass pane of the front door, careful to keep his rings from clanking too hard.

“Coming!” Someone said from the inside along with the sound of feet hurrying to the door.

Colleen opened the door and Tig no sooner muttered a 'hello' before her palm collided with his cheek. He reared back, face stinging slightly and eyes wide in surprise as Missy jumped to her feet but didn't growl.

“Shit--” Colleen breathed, quietly. “I'm sorry.” Her hand was partly over her mouth before she composed herself. Tig worked his jaw back and forth, perhaps over exaggerating the discomfort in his face while he thought of how to respond. “What—what are you doing here?”

Tig paused. How the hell did he do this? He hadn't seen her in six months and after all that time he couldn't think of anything to say.

“I—uh,” he touched Missy's ears gently and forced himself to look at his ex-wife instead of at his feet. “I don't know.”

Colleen gave a nervous glance over her shoulder before pulling the door closed and stepping out onto the porch. She crossed her arms, bringing Tig's gaze to her chest and a very small part of him felt like a pig.

“You don't know? Six months and you don't know.”

“Colleen--”

“Don't Colleen me.” She paused, taking a breath, slowly in through her nose and back out again. Tig thought she looked like she was counting. Jesus, maybe she was finally taking those anger management classes. He remembered, vividly, the day he suggested it—he still had the scar from it. “Why are you here?”

“Are the girls home?” Tig asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Surely that was explanation enough.

“No,” She said curtly. “They're not.”

They paused again and Tig's stomach dropped as small, girlish giggles were heard just on the other side of the door. Before he had much of a chance to be angry, Missy sprung to her feet and nosed the door open, running into the house.

“Missy!” Colleen and Tig both called in unison, but she was gone.

Through the open door, Tig watched as Missy stood over a squirming Dawn Trager, giving her a bath of kisses while she laughed. Missy's tail wagged so hard it looked like at any moment it would pop off, but she didn't slow down as she sniffed and nosed and continued to lick the kid happily.

Colleen had the grace to look ashamed as she was caught in her own lie. She held her arm out, saying quietly. “Come on.”

Missy backed up and Dawn scrambled to her feet, eyes getting wide and soon as Tig cleared the doorway. “Daddy?” She said quietly.

Tig hooked his thumbs in his belt as Colleen shut the door. Did he hug her? Was he allowed? He wanted nothing more than to close the gap and scoop her up but he made himself refrain, terrified that she would run screaming.

“Hey, baby,” he said, lip tilting up on one side in a half-smile. Any fears he had vanished as the kid ran passed Missy and collided with his legs, standing on her tip-toes to wrap her arms tightly around his waist. She climbed him like a tree as he stooped to pick her up, saying 'daddy' again quietly. Tig Trager did not cry but damn if he didn't consider it as she wrapped those twiggy arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

“I missed you,” he forced out as he bounced her a bit, coaxing her to wrap her legs around his middle so he didn't drop her.

“Missed you too.” She mumbled, forehead slipping lower and plastering to his kutte. He held her tight. She was heavier than he remembered but still his baby girl. He couldn't think of how old she even was and he felt like a failure.

“Fawn,” Colleen said, looking passed him and he turned around. Fawn Trager was peeking out around the hallway, most of her body hidden around the corner that lead to the back of the house. “Come here.” She added gently and Fawn shook her head. Colleen tried again and his other daughter stayed rooted to her spot behind the wall, safe and away from him. It only made him hold Dawn tighter as he looked away. 

“Collie--” he cleared his throat and shook his head. “Collie it's okay. Leave her be.”

Colleen crossed her arms again and nodded. “I—uh.” He could tell that every bone in her body wanted to tell him to get the hell out of her house, but she looked at Dawn, still buried in his arms, and she bit her lip. “Do you want a soda?”

“Sure.” He leaned his head to the side, cheek against Dawn's hair, and closed his eyes. Kozik had been right—big, fucking, surprise.

* * *

 

An hour later he was on the couch, Dawn still attached to his leg and his soda full and long forgotten on the coffee table. Tig was content to sit while his daughter climbed over him, switching positions to face him and excitedly tell him all about school and the normal day of a 6-year-old. In between her stories she would curl in the crook of his arm and snuggle him until his leg started to sweat under her, but he never complained.

“And then, Charlie got his recess taken away because he stole my crayon.” Dawn said, at about 100 miles-per-hour.

“That sounds serious.” Tig nodded, keeping his face straight as he sympathized over her stolen crayola.

“It was! It was the green one,” Dawn sat up straighter on his lap and looked him in the face. “We were coloring frogs. How can I color frogs without a green crayon?”

She was so serious. The injustice that this Charlie had done to her was unthinkable in her mind and Tig was about to bust a gut from keeping in his laughter. He bit his lip and patted her arm gently, “Did you beat him up?”

“Daddy!” Dawn laughed and pushed his shoulder.

“Do you need me to take care of him?” Tig said, smiling now so Colleen wouldn't think he was serious.

“No,” Dawn shook her head, dark hair flying everywhere as she continued to giggle. She was talkative and smiling and just as perfect as he remembered her. Tig agreed not to beat up her Kindergarten nemesis and gathered her back against his chest, holding her close again.

Colleen was watching them like a hawk, not saying much to let their daughter catch him up on the last six months. He wasn't sure if she was enjoying the talks or if she wanted to snatch Dawn from him and run. He chose not to think about it.

Dawn reached down as Missy came up to them and nosed her leg.

“Does she still do the cheese-puff thing?” Dawn asked excitedly and Tig laughed.

“Yeah.” He nodded. If you tossed just about anything in the air, Missy would catch it. But the girls had always called it the “cheese-puff thing”, since that was their snack of choice to share with the dog.

“There's some in the kitchen,” Colleen said quietly and finally cracked a smile as Dawn scrambled off of Tig and ran into the other room--Missy quick to follow.

“Not too many!” Tig called over the rustling of the chip bag. “She gets really bad gas and I'll make her sleep in your bed!” He chuckled deeply as Dawn laughed and told him 'not to be gross'.

Colleen shook her head slowly, lips pursed as she looked at him with a confused expression. He was about to ask her what she meant by that but stopped as Fawn got off the floor and slowly came over to him.

She hadn't said a word, content to sit on the floor and read while her younger sister was the center of attention.

“Hey, baby.” He said quietly, terrified that if he said the wrong thing, she would sprint back down the hall. 

Ever since Dawn had been born, she had been a 'daddy's girl', but Fawn—she was another story. His oldest was quiet, reserved and not as 'touchy-feely'. She preferred to sit, buried in a book usually, but mostly kept to herself and didn't need anyone's help. At times, she reminded him of himself. 

She sat on the couch, pulled her legs up under her and turned towards him. He knew his face was probably slack with caution, as if even a blink would ruin this moment. He swallowed hard, the noise sounding thunderous to his own ears. 

Fawn twisted her hands in her lap, saying quietly, “I'm glad you're back.” 

Tig felt like he had been hit with a truck. That was the closest he was going to get to affection from Fawn, but he would take it. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, a quick peck before leaning against his shoulder and looking at her feet. He smiled and put his arm around her. 

“Me too,” he said and gave her a small squeeze. 

No sooner had Fawn settled against him, his cell phone rang. God dammit. He mumbled an apology and moved her from his embrace to dig it out of of back pocket. It was exactly who he expected it to be—Teller-Morrow. 

Colleen's face closed down as he answered, her emotions carefully masked as she went into the kitchen to check on Dawn and Missy. 

“Yeah?” Tig said.

“Church. 20 minutes.” Clay growled and Tig's stomach sank.

“Clay, I'm in San Jose.”

“Well, then we'll have it when you get here, so, book it.” He hung up and Tig held the phone to his ear for a few moments. It was Sunday. What the hell had happened that he had to be there now? This was his day off, and now it was his day with his girls. Colleen would be pissed—even if she hadn't wanted him here originally, she had warmed up to it.

“I—uh,” He stood slowly and pocketed his phone. “I gotta go.”

Fawn didn't look up and he felt like a monster. She had opened up and maybe for a brief moment, she didn't expect him to disappoint her but he did.

“Of course you do,” Colleen said, leaning against the doorway that lead to the kitchen. Dawn stood behind her mom, petting Missy, both of their faces slightly dusted with cheese-puffs.

“Look, I can come back.” He wanted to come back and the feeling surprised him. He could handle Colleen for the sake of the girls and knowing that made him dread their interactions less but she didn't seem impressed. “Colleen, I'm trying. I want--”

“Oh you are?” She moved and opened the front door, talking as she went. “And how long before you 'try' again? Six months? Eighteen? Next time you're on parole.”

Tig winced. But she kept going.

“And how long are you going to run blow and bang crow-eaters for the 'King of Charming'?” She snapped.

They ran guns—but he didn't dare correct her. He doubted Dawn knew what 'blow' or 'crow-eater' even meant but it made him want to cover her ears. He ground his teeth instead. “Don't do this in front of them.”

Colleen nodded. “No, you're right. I won't.” She gestured towards the door and he snapped for Missy to follow. As soon as they were on the porch, she continued, “Because we're not doing this—at all.”

Tig recoiled as the door slammed in his face, his actions leaving a bad taste in his mouth and her words putting an ache in his chest.  


	6. Scottish Car Bombs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chibs helps Tig with a little booze therapy. And of course, more Tig and Kozik feels. I apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was doing so well updating! Annnnnd then I got distracted by a gorgeous girl. :P haha it is not her fault but she also happens to be my beta--plus finals week is approaching. I have a lot of excuses okay?! Oh well, enough rambling--enjoy. Comments are thoroughly enjoyed.

Chapter 6:

By the time he got back into Charming the sun was setting. The ride home had been awful. He had been torn between wanting the radio loud enough to drown his brain and not wanting it at all, so he could vent to Missy. She listened, paws on the console, while he hit the dash more than once and ran a total of four stop-signs.

He felt better by the time he reached the garage, but barely.

“Tigger!” The Scot called as he bear-hugged him around the neck the moment he set foot in the clubhouse.

Tig chuckled as he wormed his way out of the hug. “You been drinking, man?”

“No--” Chibs opened his mouth, closed it, and finally gave up. “Aye. Just a bit.”

Tig smiled and shook his head. When Chibs got alcohol in his system his accent got stronger and suddenly everyone's favorite game was trying to figure out what the hell he was saying. Most of the guys refrained from drinking till later out of respect for Gemma wanting as little damage done to the clubhouse as possible. Chibs did not have this rule—he was a lover, not a fighter and would much rather take something to bed than break someone's face, so, he got to start early.

“Watch this.” He kept his arm around Tig and snapped in the direction of the bar. “Prospect!”

The kid took one look at Chibs and got down two glasses, he poured something in the bottom before filling the rest with a dark, rich-looking beer. Chibs pulled Tig to the bar and finally released him, “I've almost got him fully trained.” He laughed and ruffled the kid's hair like a dog.

When the prospect dropped two shots in the bottom of the beers the froth sloshed out of the top and bubbled up the sides. It looked inviting in the way that he knew it would get him fucked up in no time.

“Irish car bomb?” Tig raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, no, no,” Chibs slid one to him and shook his head. “Scottish car bomb.”

Tig flat out laughed. “Not sure that's a thing.”

“It is now. And it's better.” Chibs said stubbornly. “Now drink.”

The doors to the meeting room opened loudly enough that Clay had all of their attention instantly. He jerked his thumb back into the room—a direct order for them to haul ass inside. Chibs told the prospect to keep the drinks cold. Apparently the Scot had big plans for getting him drunk after the meeting—Tig was absolutely fine with that.

Tig took his spot on Clay's right with Piney on the left and the rest of the boys filled in their respective seats. The reaper in the middle of the dark, oak table was daunting as the doors shut and the dimly lit chapel brought their attention to the center.

“Nice of you to join us.” Clay said, not looking at Tig. He pulled a cigar from his pocket and flicked his heavy, silver lighter until the flame caught.

Kozik tensed and Tig hoped he wouldn't say anything stupid. They didn't need any hate from Clay, not with the Mayan shit they had going on.

“What's going on, Clay?” Bobby broke the silence and leaned back in his chair.

Clay lowered his cigar and blew out smoke. “Mayans have a sponsor.” Everyone shifted uncomfortably as the news sunk in. “More blow is finding it's way into Charming and warehouses are being rented out like hotcakes just outside the border.”

“So, they package it on the town line and have locals bring it in?” Tig raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Nords.” Clay growled.

A collective 'Jesus Christ' came from a handful of the guys and Clay continued.

“I got Unser digging through the permits. Building codes, paperwork. Anything. Piney thinks we should have the law shut 'em down.”

Piney nodded and Tig shook his head. “Nah—fuck that. Let's go shut them down, now."

“If Unser can't do it, then we will.” Piney said. “This club doesn't need Nord blood on the door until we handle the new Mexi-prez.”

Tig stayed quiet. The old man was right. They shouldn't walk in and start shooting—but sometimes, that was the best part.

“I think we should pay the new leader a visit. We got a name yet?” Chibs said, leaning forward on the table and rolling his own cigarette.

Clay nodded, “Marcus Alvarez. And as soon as we can get some intel, I'm thinkin' that's a pretty good idea.”

“Until then, Kozik--” Piney started and Kozik looked up. “Wait until it's dark and take the prospect to the town line. Check around. Any traffic, new buildings—we wanna know.”

“Alright, that's it. Go empty out the bar.” Clay chuckled and hit the gavel on the dais. “And for God's sake, don't break the new coffee table. Gemma bitched for days.”

There was deep laughter around the table as everyone filed out and Kozik came to Tig's side. He was practically bubbling with energy and Tig knew what was coming.

“So, how'd today go?”

“Fine. And then I ruined it.” Tig tossed his keys to Chibs to put in the safe. He had a bad habit of losing them when these things went down.

Kozik didn't say anything else. He clapped his arm around Tig and squeezed once before joining him at the bar. They weren't talking about it, at least not now. He wanted to drink and drink a lot. Everyone had to work in the morning but he could fix cars in his sleep—he could certainly do it hungover.

* * *

 

Kozik watched as Chibs poured shot after shot down Tig's throat. After awhile he handed Tig a bottle of bourbon and let him take care of his own sobriety. Kozik wished he could fix whatever shit went down with Colleen today but all he could do was listen and he had a feeling Tig wasn't ready to talk.

He shook his head as Tig set the bottle on the table and buried his face in the rack of a crow-eater he had perched on his lap. No, he definitely wasn't talking tonight.

Kozik looked at his watch and nodded to the prospect. “Jacob, you ready?” The kid nodded and Kozik went down the hall to find his stuff. The boys had covered for him the other night after Tig's incident at the Hippo. Now, it was his turn.

He opened the door to his room to find the Scot had invaded his bed. “Jesus Christ, Chibs.” Kozik ducked his head and averted his eyes but he had already gotten a full shot of his friend's ass. Chibs leaned up on the bed and pulled his jeans up, loose around his waist but at least everything was covered.

“You do know this is my room, right?” Kozik shook his head.

“It's closer,” Chibs smirked and sat on the edge of the bed as a brunette knelt behind him. She pressed her breasts to his bare back and put her arms around his neck. “This is--” He gestured over his shoulder.

“Kat.” She said silkily and gave him a nod.

“Like a tiger.” Chibs purred and she laughed, letting her dark hair slide over his bare shoulder while she kissed down his back.

Yes, it was quite obvious Chibs had been hitting the bottle pretty hard. Kozik shook his head and searched the dresser for the keys. He heard a soft, feminine laugh and watched the girl nibble along the Scot's jaw. Part of him was disappointed he was going to miss another club party.

“Sorry, for--” Chibs cleared his throat, “Stealin' your bed. You wanna stick around and--?” He smirked and leaned over, grabbing one of his hand-rolled cigarettes.

“With you?” Kozik chuckled and gestured between him and the crow-eater. Chibs had to be barking mad, but the girl smiled and Kozik felt a little weak kneed.

“Aye,” Chibs nodded.

“He's pretty,” The girl murmured, her blood-red lips leaving marks in their wake as she dragged them along Chibs' ear.

The idea was borderline ridiculous and yet, maybe after a little tequila, not so ridiculous. He had tag-teamed once before, ages ago, and Tig made him promise never to speak of it. But, the prospect would be waiting. Clay and Piney would be waiting for the news of whatever they found on their border run tonight. Fuck. He swallowed hard and forced himself not to stare at her chest—which, from where he was standing, was perfect.

“I—uh—damn. No, but thanks.” He babbled as he gathered his jacket and phone. “Rain check?”

Chibs chuckled, “Suit yourself.”

The girl reached around and plucked the unlit cigarette from his grasp just as he was about to plop it between his lips. “Come here, big boy.” She smirked and backed up on the bed.

Kozik forced himself out the door, shutting it harder than necessary behind him. Staying in that room sounded a hell of a lot better than riding in the dark doing bitch-work. His patience with Clay was wearing thin but he kept his mouth shut. If he gave Clay trouble, he would give Tig trouble, and Kozik didn't want that.

Jacob was perched on the bar stool closest to the door and he jumped up as Kozik made it to the end of the hall. “Let me find Bobby and then we're good to go.” The kid nodded, remaining quiet and waiting for Kozik to tell him what to do—he was learning.

Bobby was on his first beer still, leaning on the pool table and laughing as Piney lined up his shot.

“Bobby?” Kozik stopped.

“Yeah, kid?”

“We're headed out. Could you do me a favor?” Kozik asked and Bobby put down his beer, giving him his full attention. “Keep an eye on Tig for me? Rough day.”

Bobby nodded and they both looked to the couch, still occupied by the man in question. Tig had a girl under each arm and his tongue down one of their throats. It seemed like he was doing just fine. Missy laid at his feet looking unimpressed and Kozik felt sorry for her.

“You got it. I'm sure Missy'll run them off before too long and put him in bed.” Bobby chuckled and Kozik nodded with a smile. He hoped that was exactly what happened.

“Thanks, man.” He clapped the shorter man on the shoulder and nodded to the prospect. “Let's go.”

* * *

 

By the time Kozik parked his bike, back from their night run around Charming, he was exhausted, wind-whipped and in need of a shower. They hadn't seen anything—found the warehouses Unser was talking about, but that was it. In the back of the club, he found Bobby in the bathtub, wearing a sombrero-- he decided to skip the shower. Chibs was still in his bed, covered in red lipstick, arm slung over the pretty crow-eater and snoring like a freight-train. Perfect. He was going to have to remember to change the sheets in the morning.

With a heavy sigh, Kozik dragged his ass down to the end of the hall to Tig's room.

Tig was on his belly, still in jeans but he had managed to get everything else off. The box fan was humming in the corner and everything was peaceful—he wondered who helped him to bed. Missy laid on her rug at the foot of the bed, and she raised only her eyes as Kozik shut the door behind him. He kicked off his boots, kutte and all the things that could poke him, tossing them in a pile on the floor with a dull clank.

“Come on, man. Scoot over.” Kozik said, lowering his voice in the dark room. He leaned down and put his shoulder to Tig's side and pushed.

Tig woke up just enough and looked confused, still half drunk and half asleep. “What are you—Kozik--” Tig groaned and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

“Chibs is in my bed. Which, is fine—whatever. But he sleeps naked, and that's more of Scotland than I ever planned on seeing.” Kozik slid under the top sheet and tossed his watch on the nightstand.

“Fine,” Tig smiled into the pillow, he patted the middle of the bed and called Missy quietly. “Just don't make it weird.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Kozik teased. Both of them laughed, deep and genuine as Missy army-crawled between them and settled with her head on her very own pillow.

“Punk.” Tig mumbled, putting his forehead against her fur, his black curls matching the underside of her chest.

“Asshole.” Kozik replied, closing his eyes and running his hand down Missy's belly. Missy nosed the top of Tig's head, then turned and licked Kozik. He was certain if she could talk, she'd tell them both to grow up.


	7. Merry

Chapter 7:

Monday at Teller-Morrow was the worst day to be hungover and yet, at least half the staff was wearing sunglasses indoors and popping Tylenol like tic-tacs. Kozik had slept really well and even though he missed the party, he found himself smirking every time Tig pulled his mechanic's shirt over his head and laid on his tool box like a sad turtle.

Chibs was sitting on one of the short, rolling stools with his head buried in his hands, looking like he was about to fall over. Maybe he had gone to sleep? Kozik chuckled and picked up an automatic drill and whirred it right by his ear.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I'm gonna send ye' to hell!” Chibs yelled as he jumped and rolled backwards on his stool.

“You not sleep well?” Kozik teased. “I don't see why. My bed is super comfortable.” Kozik whirred the drill again. The Scot snatched it from his hand, opened a random drawer in his toolbox, and shoved it inside.

“Piss-” Chibs scooted even farther away from him in his rolly-seat. “Off.” Another scoot and he was isolated behind the Toyota that he was currently supposed to be changing the oil in.

Kozik walked over to Tig and dropped a couple pain pills in his hand, “How ya doin'?

“Better than Chibs,” He chuckled, dry swallowing the pills. “Ever had a Scottish car-bomb?”

“I don't think that's a thing.” Kozik raised an eyebrow and Tig laughed again.

“Well, it is now. And I don't even know what's in it.” He glanced across the garage at Chibs and shook his head. “Asshole. Never again, man, Never again.”

Tig put his sunglasses back on and grabbed a wrench, turning around and popping the bolt off the inside of the piston on the Jeep in his garage bay. Kozik handed him what he needed, not saying much. The first time Tig dropped something, he went pale as soon as he bent over to get it. Kozik started doing the bending after that, not wanting to risk having to wash puke off of the customer's Jeep.

Piney came over and pulled what Kozik was positive was not a normal cigarette out of his pocket. He was his usual, cheery self and Kozik would bet he was about to be even more cheery. The old man reminded him of Santa in a way—if Santa smoked weed and had fought in Vietnam.

“Mornin' boys,” He said gruffly, leaning on the Jeep. “You and the prospect have a good run?”

Kozik nodded, “Nothing out of the ordinary. Saw the warehouses you guys mentioned in church. But they still look vacant, no activity. Although, Jacob did spot tire marks in the dirt leading to the one just to the west of the campground.”

“I know the place,” Piney nodded. “About ten minutes from the border if you go north on main street?” When Kozik nodded he continued, “I'll tell Clay. Good job, son.” He patted his shoulder and walked away towards the office. Piney was a good V.P., Kozik thought. He kept to himself and made decisions that benefited the majority—but even he could tell that the old man really didn't want the title. Ever since John Teller died, something had felt off. Piney was just filling space until Gemma's son took the throne and everyone knew it--it made him glad his home-charter was still in Tacoma. Until Jax was patched, the older members were all uneasy.

The prospect jogged up a little out of breath and hair flopping in his face. “Hey, Chibs?”

“Go away.” The man said from underneath the Toyota. He had spent an awfully long time changing the oil, and Kozik would have bet anything he had fallen asleep under the car.

“Chibs, there's a--” He ran a hand through his hair and gestured outside, obviously not wanting to bring on the Scot's rare, but terrifying temper. Kozik didn't blame him. “There's—someone's askin' for you.”

Chibs rolled out from under the car and looked passed the prospect, his mouth was open and ready to yell again, but he stopped. Kozik chuckled as he saw the pretty brunette from his room give him a wave before putting her bag over her shoulder.

Chibs hopped up without another word and went to her.

“Hmm, bet his hangover is better already.” Tig smirked and looked over his sunglasses. “We gonna give him shit?”

“You know it.” Kozik agreed. They watched as he talked to her, headache obviously forgotten as he charmed another laugh from those bright, red lips. He bent to say something in her ear and she nodded, fishing through her purse and pulling out a pen. She took his hand and scribbled along his palm, before giving him a peck and heading to her car.

Kozik would be lying if he said he didn't watch her ass along the way. When he and Tig both tilted their heads in perfect unison, he couldn't help but laugh.

Tig leaned back, both elbows on the Jeep, sun glasses pushed up into his messy hair, for a better look at Chibs. “A phone number? That's not your style, Chibs-ey.”

Chibs pursed his lips and stroked his beard in an attempt to hide his blush.

“Ohh-la-la.” Kozik teased, ducking as the man threw his shop towel at him.

“Go. Get. Shagged.” He flipped off Kozik, Tig and the prospect individually with each word before going back to his private corner of the shop, no doubt cursing them all under his breath.

Kozik kept laughing as he rearranged the wrenches in Tig's toolbox—smallest to largest. He used a shop towel to get the spot of oil off of the largest one and tried to sound like he wasn't interested, keeping his eyes from Tig.

“So, how are the girls?” he said quietly, failing at his fake disinterest.

Tig sighed and leaned against the jeep. “Good. To Dawn, it's like I never left. But Fawn--” He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Give her time, man.”

“I don't think it's that simple this time around.”

The amount of misery in Tig's voice made Kozik look up. His best friend was tough as nails but when it came to those girls, he was a pile of mush. Colleen was too bitter to see it, both girls were too young and Kozik would never spill such a secret to any of the club.

“It's like she's scared. Of me. But I didn't--” Tig clenched his fist and tapped his knuckles against the Jeep like he was seriously thinking about punching it, but he refrained. “Forget about it.” He added, barely audible.

“Think it would help if I went with you?” Kozik shrugged and tossed the shop towel on the shelf.

“I don't know—” Tig rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “Collie all but slammed the door in my face and said we 'weren't going to do this'.” He made air quotes with his hands and Kozik winced.

“Harsh.”

“Tell me about it.” Tig put his sunglasses back on and leaned inside the Jeep, placing a mileage sticker on the windshield so the owner would know when it was due for a check up.

He slammed the door as a small voice sounded from the front of their garage.

“Excuse me?”

Both men turned as a small, blonde knocked on the frame of Tig's garage bay, and stuck her head inside like she was on their front porch instead. She hitched her purse onto her shoulder and crossed her arms under her breasts, making her midriff top rise up enough to show her navel. Judging by the uncomfortable look she was giving them, Kozik was betting she wasn't here for an oil change.

“Whatch-ya need, doll?” Tig pushed away from the Jeep, hooking his thumbs in the edge of his belt and widening his knees, shoulders back just enough that you didn't miss his broad chest and good posture. Kozik almost snorted—that was his 'alpha-male' pose. It worked with just about anything with tits, but Kozik always found it hilarious.

“I'm looking for Jacob--” As soon as Tig removed his glasses and hooked them in the button-hole of his kutte, the blonde stumbled back, keeping her balance on her 3-inch heels with well practiced talent. She pulled up her purse and dug through the main pocket before coming out with a 2-inch can and aiming it at Tig.

“What the hell?” Tig moved back and put his hands up while Kozik widened his eyes and did the same.

“I didn't say anything. I promise. I told you. I wouldn't--” She rambled as she kept the pepper-spray aimed at Tig and pulled her bag in front of her chest like it would protect her. Kozik realized why she looked so familiar—the damn stripper from the Hippo.

“You gonna mace me, sweetheart?” Tig relaxed a bit and blew a quick puff of air from his nose in mockery.

“I didn't say anything.” She repeated.

“Oh, I know you didn't. If you had—do you really think you'd be standing here?” Tig chuckled, jokingly but the girl couldn't tell the difference and her hand tightened on the can. Kozik stepped between them and gave his friend a hard look.

“Tig. You're not helping.”

Tig's grin faltered and he paused. He gave Kozik a look that promised he would pay for undermining him in front of strangers but Kozik didn't care—they didn't need one of their own maced in the middle of the fucking garage.

Kozik let out a breath, slightly relieved as Tig went to the back of the garage to shoot the fat with Chibs, and turned back to the blonde.

“Sorry—um, he doesn't have a lot of manners.” He tried to make light of the situation and somehow mentally coax her to put the can back in her purse. “What are you doing here?” It sounded harsh, even to him, but the sooner he found out, the sooner he could get her the hell out of Teller-Morrow.

She swallowed hard, not saying anything as she looked at Kozik like he had grown a second head. Big doe-like eyes blinked slowly at him before dropping the pepper-spray back inside her bag as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“I don't know what came over me.” She stuttered.

Kozik waved his hands in her direction, his inner nice-guy taking over and wanting to rid her of any shame. A number of women had shown up and threatened his friend with much worse—this girl was not the first, nor would she be the last, but he wouldn't tell her that.

“Nah, don't worry about it. Tig—he's--”

“Terrifying.” She said curtly and although he felt bad, he couldn't help but laugh.

“Well--” He let the phrase hang in the air, even if he disagreed, he highly doubted her could convince her otherwise. “You said you were looking for Jacob?”

“Yeah—actually, yeah.” she nodded and crossed her arms again. “Won't take long—just have to drop something off. He around?”

“Yup. Come on.” Kozik nodded and walked out of the garage bay. She followed, her heels clicking quickly beside him, he slowed down and headed for the clubhouse. “I didn't catch your name.”

“Oh,” she switched her purse to her other arm and stuck out her hand. He shook it awkwardly as they walked. “It's Merry. With an 'e'.”

“As in Merry Christmas?” He smiled, unable to help it and she nodded. “Sorry—bet you get that a lot.”

“Like you wouldn't believe.” She finally smiled back and Kozik felt a little pride puff up inside of him.

“So, Jacob's your--”

“Little brother.”

He nodded, silent for most of the short walk towards the club house, racking his brain for anything to make it less awkward.

“Kozik,” He went to offer her his hand and dropped it quickly, realizing they had already done that—man, he felt stupid. “Herman.”

“Seriously?” She laughed again, shorter and more deliberate, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth and gaining the red back in her cheeks. “I'm sorry.”

“Named after my grandfather,” Kozik said and her blush got even worse—it was slightly cute.

“I'm sorry,” She repeated. “It's lovely--”

“Nah,” he cut her off and held open the door to the club house. “He was a mean son-of-a bitch.” Kozik smiled again as he ushered her inside. “Jacob!”

The prospect was right where he thought he would be—stocking the bar. The kid had a cardboard box under each arm and was carefully sliding another across the floor with his foot. Piney would kill him if any of the bottles busted, hence the caution.

Jacob set the box on the bar and smiled, that wide flash of teeth showing just how young the prospect really was. “Merry!” He hugged her tight--'little' brother being nothing more than a title as he picked her up with ease.

“I'll leave you to it,” Kozik spoke up, smoothly. He put one hand in his pocket and pointed to the blonde directly. “Don't mace anyone.”

Merry laughed quietly and gave him a nod. “I can't make any promises.”

Kozik returned the chuckle and put both hands in his pockets before turning on his heel. He had a feeling, that one was bound to be trouble.

 


	8. Starting New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig gets and unexpected phone call and Kozik gets an unexpected visitor.

 

A buzzing was coming from somewhere beside his ear, like a giant bumblebee that was trying to work its way inside of his brain. All Tig wanted was some peace and quiet, but apparently even that was too much to ask for. He buried his head underneath the pillow and snuggled closer to the furry warmth that was Missy at his side. She huffed, laying her muzzle on his back and thumping her tail against his side—she probably needed to go out, but like most mornings, was more patient with him than he deserved. 

The buzzing continued. “Son of a bitch,” Tig grumbled as he raised up and began the hunt for his phone, anything to stop the incessant vibrating. He punched the button, willing his thumb to go through the device and barked a hello into the receiver.

“Well, good morning to you too.”

“Colleen,” Tig said, less harshly. “Hey.” He pushed himself up and scooted back enough to lean against the headboard, free hand finding its way into Missy's fur as he cleared the sleep from his throat.

“You busy?”

“No, I--”

“You just woke up, didn't you?”

Her tone of voice was motherly and he hated it. He didn't have to see her to know her hip was cocked and her eyebrows drawn together in that infuriating way. She spent ninety percent of their marriage in that pose, he was sure of it.

“Yeah.”

“Must be nice.”

“What do you want, Colleen?” Tig snapped, patience shorter than normal. “Did you seriously call just to rag on my bad sleeping habits?”

“Shit,”she sighed into the phone. “No.”

There was a pause and Tig rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, pushing his unruly curls out of his face. “Out with it, Colleen.”

“I was rude--when you came up to see the girls. Rude and I'm sorry.” She all but vomited the words into the phone as they came out in one clump and hit him like a dump truck. Tig's hand stilled in Missy's fur and he sat up more, eyes staring blankly at the dresser across the room as he wondered what to say. “You still there?” She asked, as he left her hanging longer than he thought.

“Yeah, still here.”

“Look, we got issues, Alex, but the girls miss their father, and you're never going to want to come if I'm a bitch.”

She was right. He wanted to see the girls and was relieved that they apparently wanted to see him, but the drive didn't bother him as much as his bi-polar ex-wife did.

“What are you saying?”

“I want you to come back. Drive up for the day, see the girls—but planned this time so, I'm--” She paused and let out another breath. “Better prepared.”

Tig held the phone as tightly as Piney held his favorite bottle of tequila. He could go and it could be a total disaster like before or it could be great. A rejection was on the tip of his tongue before the back of his mind thought about Kozik, thought about what his blonde-better-half would do and he swallowed his words before he even said them.

“I'm free Friday.” He managed to get out.

“Friday? That's—that's perfect.”Colleen stumbled, obviously as shocked a he was. “The girls have a half-day.”

“Friday.” He said with a nod even though she couldn't see it.

“Friday.” She repeated. “Perfect. Bye, Alex.”

Tig hung up and looked at Missy. Her big brown eyes focused on him as she raised up and stood on the bed, to be at eye level. She wagged her tail slowly as he stretched and let his hands lay limp in his lap.

“Think I can do this?” He said to his knees but raised his eyes, hoping Missy would give him an answer. “Think I can be a good dad?”

Missy barked and licked his face, no doubt interpreting his words as “do you want to go outside?” but Tig didn't care. He laughed and took the bark as a 'yes'.

“Always the vote of confidence from you.” He ruffled her fur and wrestled her to the mattress for a bear hug and a playful good-morning before he had to face the day. 

* * *

 

“Hey!”

Kozik jumped as Gemma kicked his boot with the front of her gold-trimmed, black wedges. He quickly took his feet off the coffee table and tossed his magazine to the side. Gemma raised an eyebrow at the issue of 'Good House-Keeping' but Kozik shrugged. All the dirty magazines in the place were old and very well-used—he would rather read about bread-making than risk touching five years of left-over jizz.

“Yeah, Gem?”

“Got a girl outside, need you to look at her Eclipse.”

Kozik frowned. “I don't work here.”

“She's asking for you.” Gemma put her freshly manicured hands on her hips. “It's business, honey. We need it.”

That was the closest thing to a 'please' that he was going to get from the queen-bee and Kozik nodded.

“Yeah, fine. I got it.” He grabbed his kutte and shrugged it on as he stood.

“Use whatever you need from Tig's station. But if she gets any parts, charge her.” Gemma said sternly and he nodded again.

It was another hot day on the lot of Teller-Morrow and Kozik had planned on being lazy and staying in the air-conditioning. He would have been content to drink and swap stories with Piney, who spent most of his days inside anyway due to the lack of business. Maybe it was time to start planning the trip back to Tacoma.

“Hey!” A much gentler tone said as he hit the lot and looked up. The blonde stripper was standing by a silver eclipse, battling the heat by not wearing much of anything and waving at him like they were old friends.

“Merry—right?” He smiled back and shook her hand.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Herman.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and kind of twisted in place. Taking time to bite her lip before saying, “Look, I'm sorry. I know you're busy but, Jacob's gone and—I don't want anyone else to--”

“Nah, I get it.” Kozik popped his knuckles and the hood of her car. “What's it doing?”

“I don't have any wiper fluid.” She crossed her arms and watched as he leaned over the car and poked around.

“Did you try filling it up?” He moved a hose to the side and motioned her over. “Hold this for me.”

She held the hose back from his line of sight as he slipped his hand into the mouth of the car and felt around slowly. “I did and it'll work for about a day and then it says I'm out again. I'll try to spray it and it just makes a _whurrr-whurrrr_ noise.”

Kozik chuckled, “What noise does it make? I didn't quite catch that.”

She took a breath and used her throat to honk the noise again for him. “It's like a _whurrr—_ you're making fun of me!” She laughed and hit his shoulder gently when she caught him smiling at her car-like sound effects.

“No, never.” He laughed more and shook his head. He felt around some more before he made her come closer. “Put your finger over mine and when I pull back, feel this.” She did as he asked, placing her much smaller, much softer fingers over his and he pulled back slower than was probably necessary.

“There's a hole!” She gasped and he nodded.

“Yup, everything you pour in there is going straight onto the ground.”

“Well, damn.” She wrinkled her nose at the car and pulled her hand away. “Is it expensive?”

Kozik shook his head. “I'll poke around in the back, find an old container that will fit the nozzle. Take about ten minutes after I actually find the part.”

She sighed, obviously relieved that he didn't think fixing it would be a big deal. “Thank you. Do you mind if I watch?”

“Not at all.” Kozik shook his head and smiled again.

About one hour, one busted knuckle and thirty curses later, Kozik had the plastic on tight and filled with new wiper fluid. Merry watched him intently, winced when he cursed and moved to help about every 5 minutes, even though she had no idea what she was doing. He appreciated the sentiment. He wiped his hands on a blue shop rag and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans when he was finished.

“There, should be good as new.” He brushed his hands on his kutte. “It's _whurrrrr-whurr_ -ing days are over.” He joked at her, pursing his lips to imitate the noise she made horribly.

She blushed, that soft pink that filled both cheeks and made him grin like a mad-man. “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

Kozik shook his head. “Don't worry about it.” He didn't know why he did it, Gemma would kill him, even though the part was only worth less than 20 bucks, but he wasn't about to charge her.

“No. No charity.” She stubbornly opened her purse. “Let me pay you--”

“I said 'no', alright?” Kozik insisted and she paused, frowning at him again, and lowered her purse slowly. He gave her a wink, bringing back that wonderful blush, before turning around and shutting the hood of her car firmly.

He faced her again and stepped back when she was closer than he remembered, arms crossed over her breasts and hand partially extended. A small slip of paper was held between her fingertips.

“What's this?” he took it slowly and didn't open it.

“My number. You won't let me pay? Then let me buy you a drink.”

Kozik looked at the scrap of paper then back to her, no doubt looking like a fish out of water. He opened his mouth, closed it, then repeated the process, looking like a grade-A idiot. She smiled and patted his chest, right on his kutte.

“Calm down, Herman.” She purred his name and he swallowed hard. “It's not a date.”

“It's not?” He finally choked out, mentally slapping himself for how pathetic that sounded.

She laughed, not at him, but quiet and pretty as she climbed into her car and started it to cool it down as quickly as possible. “It's whatever you want it to be.”

He tried to respond but her smile faded when she glanced over his shoulder and she put the car in drive. She drove through the gates and he turned to see Tig, awake and leaning against the garage, watching them over his glasses.

* * *

 

Clay came up behind Tig, leaning against the garage wall and tossing him an apple.

“What the hell is this?” Tig caught is and raised an eyebrow.

“Gemma wants us all to be healthier,” Clay sighed and shook his head when Tig continued his look of confusion. “Don't ask, she's been in a weird mood lately. I told Luann to stop taping Martha Fucking Stewart for her.”

Tig laughed and brushed the apple against his kutte, eyeing it like it was something strange and foreign. “I don't think fruit is going to counteract Piney's alcohol induced liver failure.” He took a bite anyway and had to admit he kinda liked the loud crunch between his teeth.

He watched as the stripper drove out of the lot and Kozik stayed where he was. Two days now, that gash had shown up unannounced and it didn't sit right with him.

“That the stripper from The Hippo?” Clay said, leaning away from the wall as if to get a better look.

“Yup.” Tig mumbled, taking another bite a little more roughly than the first. Kozik had bad luck with women—to be honest, they all did—but Kozik's was the worst. Untold horror stories of bad broads that took his nice-guy appeal and used it to hang him with. He racked his brain and came back with memories of the closet dominatrix with no safe-words, the married one with the cannibal husband and the secret Nazi with her own following. He kept telling the love-sick blonde, that he should quit chasing pussy and write a damn book—people would buy that shit.

“Kozik hittin' that?” Clay added, looking at Tig.

“Not to my knowledge.” Tig said, hoping if his answers were short enough, Clay would drop it. Kozik had a knack for coming to him with everything—like they were having a permanent sleepover. If he was sleeping with someone new, Tig would have known.

“Keep an eye on him. If she keeps coming around—see what she knows.” Clay nodded, watching Kozik like a hawk watches a mouse and Tig stood up straight.

“Nah, man. Leave it. Kozik--”

“We,” Clay cut him off. “Could use her.”

Tig stopped arguing. If she knew anything about the Mayans and their drug ring it could be a quick and easy way to bigger things like the Nords or even the alleged prostitution ring. Clay was right, but Tig didn't like using Kozik's possible girl to get their intel—his friend tended to get attached way too quickly.

“It'll help everyone, Tigger.” Clay clapped him on the shoulder and headed back towards the office.

“Sure,” Tig said, unconvinced, to no one in particular. He looked at his apple before chucking it across the fence. He felt a cold, lump im the pit of his stomach and knew it was going to be a long day.


	9. Family Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Tig and Kozik adorableness.

Chapter 9:

For the last couple of days things had been strangely quiet in Charming. People had come and go, Tig had lost count of the tires he had rotated, but at least the heat seemed like it would let up soon. The Mayans and the Nords had been keeping low, and the amount of quiet building in the shadows had Tig feeling like he was about to jump out of his skin.

He held a cigarette tightly between his lips and pulled his arm back, launching a stick across the wide, green yard for Missy. To refresh all the boys, Gemma had invited everyone over to her house for a small get-together. Clay had closed the shop early, after some convincing from his old lady, and she had made enough hamburgers and her county-famous coleslaw to feed an army. Tig was pretty sure he would be full for a week.

“You excited about tomorrow?” Kozik said. He came down off of the porch and held Tig's cigarette so he could stoop and praise Missy for bringing him back the stick.

Tig paused, rubbing Missy's ears and chest with enthusiasm as she bounced and nosed his hand, practically begging him to throw the branch again. Tomorrow was Friday and he wasn't sure what to feel, but he was pretty positive it wasn't excitement.

“Yeah—excited.” He took his cigarette back once Missy bounded back across the yard.

“You're worried?” Kozik crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Tig.

“Shouldn't I be?” Tig didn't want to look at Kozik so he watched as Missy dropped her stick and chased after a butterfly that was hovering around Gemma's tulips.

“Nah, just don't fuck it up.”

Tig felt his heart clench. If Kozik didn't believe he wouldn't fuck up tomorrow then he didn't have a chance in hell. He turned to find his friend smiling widely, a shit-eating grin reaching all the way up to his eyes. He believed in Tig, like usual. At least that made one of them.

“Fuck you,” Tig chuckled and leaned over the rail of the porch to stamp out his cigarette in the glass tray--Gemma would have all of their heads if she found any in her perfect yard.

Kozik laughed. “All I'm saying is that it's gonna be fine. Go. Have a good time. It shouldn't be a chore. Just...be with them.” He made a motion with his hands in front of them like he was explaining something incredibly easy and Tig was the one making it difficult—which was true.

“How are you so damn positive all the time?” He sighed.

“I watch a lot of Oprah,” Kozik shrugged without missing a beat and Tig nearly choked. “She's getting fat don't you think?”

“Shut. Up.” Tig managed to spit out through his laughter. As soon as he could breathe again, he grabbed Kozik by the neck and put him in a headlock. He ruffled that fluffy, yellow hair as Missy barked and ran circles around the both of them.

“Get off!” Kozik laughed again and shoved him back only to have Missy take Tig's place in pestering him. He rubbed her down, slicking her ears back and chuckled when they sprang back to life every time.

The porch door opened and Gemma came out with a trash bag, collecting enough empty beer bottles to make a stained glass window. She declined all offers of help and seemed to take pride in mothering them all for the day. To his right, Tig caught Clay staring out the window, watching them as he smoked his cigar. He quickly looked back to Kozik.

“So—your stripper--” he started.

“My what?” Kozik asked, only half paying attention as he held Missy's paws and made her dance on her back feet. She nosed his hand happily and hopped on her hind legs wherever he led.

“That blonde gash you got coming down to TM. What's the story?”

Kozik frowned. Tig knew that look—the kind that said he was offended. Apparently this was worse than he thought.

“She's not _my_ stripper, Tig. And her name is Merry.” He let go of Missy's paws and set her on the ground gently. “With an 'e'.”

“I'm not judgin' man. Nothing wrong with a the occasional skank.”

“She's not a skank.”

“Crow-eater then?”

“No. She's nice--”

“You don't know that.

“Well, neither do you.” Kozik ended, firmly but still calm. Tig fought back a sigh. Had they lived different lives, Kozik's nice-guy, trusting routine could have landed him a quality old-lady. But they were in SAMCRO and all it did was get him into trouble. He could slap him around when he made bad choices, but he couldn't beat the niceness out of him.

Kozik was quiet for a moment before crossing his arms over his kutte again. “ She want's to buy me a drink.”

“You gonna go?”

“I don't know,” Kozik shrugged again, barely moving his shoulders.

Tig rubbed his face, careful not to stab himself in the eye with his own wrist cuff and was silent for a minute or two. “I'm sorry. I'm sure she's great.”

Kozik nodded. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and held it for a minute before putting it between his lips. He was thinking about something, Tig could tell, but he didn't ask. “Besides,” Tig continued. “She might be able to help. With the Mayan thing.”

“What?” Kozik didn't bother lighting the cigarette as he pulled it from his mouth and looked at Tig with confusion.

Tig shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and failing. “She was at the Hippo. Maybe she knows some stuff that goes down. It's a long shot but—who knows.” He shrugged again, hoping his fake indifference would be believed if he shrugged enough.

Kozik's eyebrows drew together, “Clay put you up to this?”

“What?--” Tig blew air out through his lips in dismissal. “No, of course not.”

Kozik eyed his friend for awhile before finally lighting his cigarette. As he took a deep breath, he leaned back and blew smoke, straight up, slow and lazy before saying, “You're a shitty liar.”

Tig started to retaliate, cover up his unimpressive lie with something equally pathetic but was saved by the porch door opening again and the sound of Gemma's boots on the wood. She was dressed to impress—with tight black jeans and a top that showed off a great rack. The scar in the valley of her breast drew attention to them, along with the tattoo that marked her as Clay's old lady. Tig noticed it all and appreciated it. That was what she wanted, and Gemma always got what she wanted.

“Boys,” she put her hands on her hips and nodded to Missy, “And girl—Luann is about to cut the pies. Come get some dessert.”

As they followed her back inside the kitchen she kissed them both and patted Missy's head. Tig squeezed her waist and sighed as the door shut behind them and the air conditioning engulfed him in a comforting cloud of cool air. Luann stood at the counter, serving up slices of her famous lemon meringue pie—everyone who tried it swore it was a little piece of heaven and Tig had to agree.

Gemma patted his arm before crossing the room to Clay. Luann laughed, clear as a bell as she helped Bobby get pie crumbs from his beard. Chibs was across the hall, sneaking beers to Jax and Piney's son, Harry. It was only a few months before Gemma's son turned 21 and he along with his gentle-giant of a best friend would become prospects. To Tig, this was home—this was family, but so were his girls, and he didn't have a damn clue on how to combine the two.

“Bobby, you talk to Unser about--” Clay started, but Gemma put a finger to his lips.

“No,” she said gently. “No. Save it for church. Today is a family day. You promised.”

Clay eyed her, lips drawn to the side like he wanted to argue but he gave up and pulled her into his lap, nosing a few kisses against her ear. Tig smiled and shook his head, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, something that real was the goal—for all of them.

A fork clinked at his right and Happy looked at the plate like he wanted to lick it clean, “Tastes better than pussy.”

Kozik choked, pie deciding to go down the wrong side and Tig laughed. “I don't know about that brother,” he thumped Kozik on the back as his friend tried to remember how to breathe. “But it's pretty damn close.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” Luann leaned over and took Happy's plate, giving the scary biker and motherly peck on his bald head. “Kozik, sweetie, want some more?”

“No,” Kozik shook his head and slid his plate forward slowly. “No, I think I'm going to burst.”

Tig chuckled and finished the last couple of bites off of Kozik's plate for him before Luann took it to the sink. He put a bit of the whipped meringue on his finger and leaned down so Missy could lap it from his hand. “Good girl,” he smiled and wiped his hand on his jeans once she cleaned it.

“Oh, Tig!” Gemma said excitedly as she jumped off of Clay's lap. “I just remembered—I got Missy something.”

“Don't tell me it is more of those organic dog treats,” Tig turned in his stool at the bar. “You're wasting your money, I told you she won't touch them.”

“She'll sniff them, then hide them in the couch.” Kozik added with a laugh and Tig groaned as he remembered trying to vacuum the crumbs from the cushions.

“No, no, this is better.” Gemma said as she rifled through a bag on the counter. She produced a sleek, black, diamond-studded collar with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon.

“Gem,” Tig shook his head. Diamonds? Studs, maybe, but his old lady was a badass. He liked to think in another world, Missy ripped the throats of bad guys, sharpened her claws on busted skulls and ate chihuahuas for breakfast. But in the real world, his baby was a lover, a protector—his protector to be more exact.

Gemma ignored him and slipped Missy's well-worn, faded blue collar from her neck and clipped the flashy one on her, adjusting it to fit.

“There,” she smiled. Missy looked from her to Tig, not offering licks of thanks but looking to dad and waiting for his approval. It looked good on her and Tig gave in and patted his lap.

“Come here, baby.” He said and she scrambled across the kitchen. Her front feet went to his lap instantly and slowly, one at a time, her back feet followed until she was gathered in his arms at the counter like a kid. “Thanks, Gem.” He smiled and she rubbed both of their heads.

Missy laid her head on his shoulder and watched the people move around the kitchen, big brown eyes following lazily as Tig rubbed his hand up and down the length of her back. He did this for awhile, leaning his head against her and letting everyone else fade into the background.

“And you say I spoil her.” Kozik leaned towards him and mumbled quietly.

Tig chuckled and turned slowly on the bar stool so Missy didn't think he was going to drop her and faced Kozik. “You should go. You know—get that drink with your strip--” he coughed and corrected himself, “With Merry.”

Kozik looked like Tig had just tried to sew his head to the living room carpet. Tig closed his eyes again against Missy, trying to act nonchalant, he didn't feel like watching as Kozik fought not to bear hug him on the spot for something as trivial as his approval of a piece of gash.

“Thanks, man.” Kozik said quietly.

“Yeah, yeah. Go get me a beer.” Tig waited until Kozik had left the counter and was buried in the fridge before opening one eye and finally cracking a smile.  


	10. First Dates, First Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozik has that drink with Merry.

Chapter 10:

“Where's your—never mind, found it!” Kozik called from down the hall and Tig shook his head. He tossed a couple of cola cans into the trash and leaned against the counter, glancing at the clock. It felt like the hands hadn't moved and he still had plenty of time to make it down to Colleen's.

Tig turned around and Kozik came back into the kitchen, showered and trading his kutte for a grey button down that matched his stormy eyes. Tig chuckled and crossed his arms.

“What?” Kozik asked hesitantly, looking down at his appearance for something funny.

“Nothin'.” Tig smiled and shook his head.

Kozik brushed him off and went to the fridge to get a beer. He was already nervous for some reason and Tig was not helping.

“You smell like a French hooker.” Tig added.

“Got it from your cabinet.” Kozik retorted.

Tig sat at the counter as Kozik closed the fridge. He should probably head out soon, but instead he found himself entranced by the 'snake' game on his Nokia. The little block line ate its little block food--even though it didn't have a mouth--and Tig moved his thumbs accordingly, cursing when he ran the animal into the side of the screen.

Kozik was staring at him and he finally gave in and looked up. “You sure you don't wanna go?” Tig all but pleaded and Kozik shook his head.

“Look, I'd love to see them, but today is about you and your girls. Colleen called and invited _you_ down. I don't think she'd be happy if I came in the door too.” He chuckled trying to lighten the mood but he was right. Tig nodded.

Tig was quiet for a moment, then sighed, “Remember when Fawn was born?”

“You mean the night we almost duked it out in the hospital parking lot?”

Tig nodded again and put his phone in his pocket. The night Fawn was born had been something straight from a nightmare. He had paced a trail from Colleen's hospital room to the lobby, unable to decide where he wanted to be. It had taken hours and they had poked and prodded and took readings from his wife that he didn't understand but was always told everything was 'normal'.

When Fawn had finally come out and been cleaned, they tried to hand her off to him and he bolted. He practically ran out of the hospital with the sound of Colleen's screams for him haunting him even after he made it out into the cool, night air.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” Tig propped his head on his fist and looked at his friend.

Kozik thought about it for a bit then shook his head. “No, I don't.”

That night Kozik had chased him out into the alley behind the hospital. Tig was plastered to the brick wall, feeling like the entire building was sitting on top of his chest and he couldn't seem to get enough air. He looked at his hands as they shook in front of them, hands that had seen war, done terrible things and those nurses had almost handed him something as fragile as a new born.

“You told me,” Tig sat up straight and squared his shoulders. “'To get up. Man up—and go back inside or you would kick my ass so hard, I would be lucky we were already at the hospital.' and then you grabbed me by the front of my shirt and said--”

“'That's an order soldier.'” Kozik finished as the memory came back to him. “You always outranked me.”

“Not that night, I didn't.” Tig said. He didn't want to be a father, he wanted to get on his Dyna and disappear and Kozik had all but swallowed the keys. From that moment on, his best friend had become 'Uncle Kozik'. And the girls adored him.

Kozik came around the counter to pat his shoulder. “Go. Have a great time. And when you see them again, let me know and I'd love to tag along.” He reached into the bowl and tossed Tig his motorcycle keys.

“You gonna be back in time to let Missy out?” Tig asked as he got up and grabbed his kutte.

“Yeah. I'm not leaving for awhile and then I should be back pretty soon.”

“You taking her out on the bike?” Tig raised an eyebrow.

“No, of course not. Can I--?” He paused.

Tig tossed him the keys to the Jeep. “No blow jobs in the back of my Jeep.”

“Tig--”

“And none on my couch either. I don't want Missy scarred for life.”

“Tig! It's just a drink.”

“Uh-huh. Have fun.” Tig shrugged on his kutte and rubbed Missy, kissing the tip of her nose in good-bye. “There's treats on top of the fr--” At the word 'treat' Missy scrambled into the kitchen and stood on her back legs barking at the top of the fridge. Tig chuckled, “She'll show you where they are.”

Kozik hollered a goodbye and followed Missy into the kitchen as the Dyna started up outside and roared down the driveway.

* * *

 

Kozik was proud to say he had only had one beer and after a silent pep talk from Missy, was able to leave the house. He even made it to the bar with 5 minutes to spare—when he had offered to pick Merry up and she had politely declined. It wasn't a date after all.

“Herman!” She waved him over and patted the bar stool beside her, setting down her glass as he leaned in to shake her hand. She laughed and brushed his arm away, hugging him quickly instead. “Wow.” She smiled.

“What?” He looked around confused for a moment before she shook her head and clarified.

“You clean up nice. Want a beer?” She waved down the bartender as he nodded.

“How, uh--” He finally sat and ran a hand through his hair. “How's your car?”

“It's great.” She smiled and slid his beer into his hands. “No more weird noises. You're a car-magician. How long have you worked at Teller-Morrow?”

“I don't actually.”

“What? But I thought--”

“Yeah, I'm just in town for a bit. Helping the charter and Tig.” Kozik watched as Merry nodded and became silent, no doubt feeling guilty about having him fix her car now. He didn't mind, really, most days around the garage became pretty boring.

“But aren't you a Son?” She gestured to his chest, absent the kutte but he still understood what she meant.

“Yeah, just belong to the Tacoma charter.”

“Oh—Tacoma? I hear it's lovely up there.” She took the stirring straw out of her drink and sucked it before setting it on the napkin.

“It is.” He took a drink and watched the bubbles around the neck of the bottle. She kept eying his chest and Kozik felt uncomfortable. She was no doubt missing the kutte and like always was taking him out because of the patch. Tig probably would have thought it was hilarious but Kozik felt nauseous.

“Is Jacob getting patched soon?” She blurted and he thought he might as well leave now. It was obvious, if she buttered up a full-fledged member, her little brother would have a leg up.

“I don't know. Not my charter, not my call. Why?” He said, fighting to keep any bitterness out of his voice.

Merry sighed and crossed her legs, smoothing her skirt before leaning into him. “Can I tell you something?”

“I guess.” He turned as well, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't want him patched.” She admitted and the knot in his stomach became slightly smaller.

“What?”

“I know it's awful of me and it's something he wants but,” she sighed and pulled her hair to one side. “I don't like it. N-nothing against you. But I worry about him and it's dangerous and—I'm being stupid aren't I?”

Kozik set down his beer and only wished he could have thought of a comforting phrase quicker than he did. “No—no you're not. I get it. It's another world. It's not just a club, it's a life. But, Jacob knows that.”

“I'm still going to worry.” She sighed.

“Well, yeah. Nothing wrong with that.” Kozik smiled probably bigger than he should of as a lot of his initial worry left his gut completely.

She smiled, obviously relieved now that her secret was out on the table and took another drink. “So, any kids?”

“Me? Well,” he shook his head. “Two nieces, well sorta. Tig's girls.”

“Tig has children?” She raised an eyebrow and he nodded, quickly changing the subject.

“What about you?”

“No—not me. I barely go out, let alone something as serious as kids.”

“Not a lot of nice guys in your line of work?” He winced as soon as he said the sentence and had the strong urge to put his shoe in his mouth to keep from doing it again. “I'm sorry--”

“No,” she shook her head. “You're right. There aren't.” They both looked at their drinks, Merry poking the lime around in her ice as Kozik picked at the label on the bottle with his nail. The silence was almost uncomfortable before Merry turned and said suddenly, “You wanna split some cheese fries?”

Kozik snorted into his beer, recovering enough to smile at her. “God, yes.” He watched as she ordered and put another round on her tab. It wasn't the best start but the smell of wonderfully greasy appetizers held plenty of promise.

* * *

 

A handful of drinks, and the best cheese fries he had had in his entire life, later and Kozik was walking out into the parking lot with Merry on his arm.

“So let me get this straight, you wanted to be an architect?” She looked at him and squeezed his forearm as her heels hit the black top.

“I don't know. I mean yeah, kinda, sorta—maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck, he couldn't believe he told her that. “But math fucking sucks.” They both laughed quietly and stopped in front of Tig's Jeep.

Merry held her purse by her side, looking from the Jeep to Kozik. Her lip was between her teeth again as she brushed an unruly lock of blonde hair back behind her ear. She turned slightly, the gravel crunching under her heels before finally facing him and asking, “You're a nice guy, right?”

Kozik paused. It was a simple question but at the same time it was anything but simple. He was a Son, they all did the best they could, some more than others, but he led the life, a life he was sure she would never know about. Guns, whores, blood, all came to the front of his mind and he shoved them aside and gave her what small truth he could. “I try,” he said sheepishly and she nodded.

“Take me home?”

Kozik smiled before he could stop himself. “What about your car?”

“I'll ask Jacob to pick it up in the morning.” 

Well, then,” he opened the door and offered his help for her to get up over the foot rail. He went back around to his side, hopping in and starting the engine and saying with what he was sure was another stupid grin. “Which way?”

* * *

 

Merry's place was a small, one bedroom duplex. The brick was lit by the fluorescent bulb over hanging the one car garage—white door, trim and shutters seemed pretty bland when paired with the cookie cutter version of the one next door and the minimal shrubbery by the mailbox. But the bottom line was that it wasn't shabby, it was quaint.

Kozik rocked slightly on his heels, hands in his pockets, quietly observing as Merry unlocked the door. She had politely asked him inside and he had been unable to tell her no with the understanding that he couldn't stay too long—Missy was at home waiting and probably bored to death.

She showed him the small foyer and he got a glimpse into the living room before she took him into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He really didn't want any but was almost positive she was just being formal. He leaned on the counter and was studying her duck wall paper when her soft laughter brought him back to the present.

“What?” he raised an eyebrow and moved away from the fridge.

“You know, it's okay to ask. You've been dancing around the topic all night.” She smiled again and opened a cabinet.

“Ask what?”

“About my job.”

Oh. Kozik twisted his watch around his wrist and thought for a moment. She was right, he had avoided it on purpose at the bar but it wasn't because he was embarrassed for her—he just didn't know what to say. He still didn't and she swooped in to save him from saying anything else stupid.

“I've been at it about a year. Only been at the Hippo a few months. My manager's a dick.” She laughed again and crossed her arms, leaning back against the sink. She talked as if she was something more mundane and it made Kozik relax a little.

“Why?” Kozik asked and she interpreted his less than impressive conversation skills with ease.

“I like it,” She shrugged. “Dancing, I mean. And it pays _really_ well. I don't have daddy issues. I don't think all men are evil—it's just a job.”

Kozik nodded again and all he could think about was the conversation he had with Tig in Gemma's front yard. He had been quiet for too long and had to say something though, “Do you like the Hippo?”

She shrugged again. “Not that many strip joints near Charming. I'd have to move for more options.”

He didn't know much about the Purple Hippo—all the places he normally ventured on weekends where with his brothers in Tacoma. The night with Tig was his first time there but for some reason he almost felt bad for being unable to say he had ever seen Merry dance.

“From what I saw it looked—I mean it was just—it was kinda—do you ever see anything weird?”

“What?” She set a mug down on the counter and faced him.

“I mean, there were lots of Mexicans around when we came in and it's not Mayan territory. Notice anything out of the ordinary lately?”

“I'm not sure I know what you're asking.” Merry shook her head and shut the cabinet fairly hard.

“You know, like gang-stuff. Trade offs. Drugs, maybe?”

Kozik couldn't stop himself. It was like word vomit. He thought about the club, about what Tig had said and about how any information could get Clay off his back for at least a minute. Merry's shoulders had gone rigid and he wish he would have just kept his mouth shut. He should have drank her stupid coffee, kissed her, sucked his thumb, anything that would have kept him quiet and not allowed him to ruin everything.

“Is this what tonight was? Pumping me for information?”

“Well, I mean if you noticed anything we could help with--”

“I can't believe this. What—they send you because you weren't the one that put a gun in my mouth?” Her light blue eyes had darkened as she moved away from the counter and crossed her arms over her breasts.

“No—that's not--” he tried but she shook her head.

“I think you should leave.” She said quietly and walked to the door. He followed after a second, unable to think of anything comforting to make her let him stay.

“Merry--”

“Please—go.” she tucked her hair behind her ears and curled in on herself. She didn't want to hear it.

As the door closed quietly behind him, he stood on the porch in the dark of the evening. She locked the door, turned off the porch light and didn't bother checking to see if he was in his car or not before he heard her receding foot steps. He held his keys and looked at the Jeep before climbing in an slamming the door much harder than was needed. Tig was going to love hearing about this.


	11. Whiplash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig goes to see Colleen and the girls. (Don't hate me, guys. Okay? You promise? ...okay. Now that class has started again, this story is going to start updating every Tuesday so keep an eye out.)

Chapter 11:

Tig smiled as Dawn brushed the chip crumbs from his scruff. He should have shaved, but was honestly too excited about seeing his girls that it had slipped his mind. He had shown up around noon and any awkward exchanges he and Colleen would have had were pushed to the side by his two excited daughters. Well, Dawn was excited—Fawn was only slightly happy, but she hugged him as soon as he walked in the door and Tig considered it a great, fucking start.

“Thanks, baby.” Tig chuckled as he wiped the rest off with a napkin.

She plopped back down on the bench and continued to eating her hot dog. After some persuasion from Tig, Colleen had let him toss their lunch on the grill. He argued that they tasted better than when she made them on the stove, which was true, but it also allowed him to watch the girls run around the yard, and avoid his wife as much as possible.

Speaking of, she currently sat across from them, sipping a cola and not saying much. It made Tig's skin tingle, so he tried his best to fill the silence.

“Uncle Kozik said to tell you guys 'hi',” he started and Fawn pipped up.

“Really?” She turned and he smiled.

“Yeah, wants to come up--” he stopped and turned to Colleen. “If that's alright.”

“Please, mom!” The girls said in unison and Tig chuckled.

Colleen pursed her lips. With one look, Tig could tell every bone in her body wanted to say that Kozik couldn't come but she had the same problem Tig did, denying those adorable faces much of anything.

“We'll see.” She said simply and Dawn's shoulders slumped dramatically. She raised on her knees and leaned over to whisper in Tig's ear.

“That means no.” She said quietly, big blue eyes looking downward as soon as Colleen spoke. Tig frowned.

“It doesn't mean no—it means, I'll think about it.” Colleen said and smiled slightly to put Dawn's mind at ease.

Tig reached out and gave Dawn a pat on the head, careful not to get his large fingers caught in her baby-fine hair. According to Colleen, Tig gave in too easily with their children and in his opinion, Colleen could do without the stick in her ass.

“You know,” Tig cleared his throat and straddled the bench so he could face his girls. “Missy said to tell you guys hello, too.”

“No she didn't.” Fawn said but she smiled a bit and Tig felt his heart jump.

“Did too. I speak dog.” Tig insisted and Fawn smiled more. “Can't you speak dog?” He poked Dawn in the side and she squirmed.

“No!”

“You can't huh? Hmm, must not be genetic then.” He chuckled and poked her again. She curled away from him and giggled.

“Dad!” She groaned as she laughed. “Don't do that.”

Tig smiled again. Colleen collected their plates, “You done?” she muttered quickly, picking up his plate before he even had a chance to answer. Tig clenched his fist beneath the picnic table, fully aware that Fawn was watching him like a hawk.

As Colleen disappeared into the kitchen, he gave each of his girls and squeeze, “I'll be right back.”

Colleen's kitchen was much more complete than his would ever be. The cabinets were made from a sandy wood, and everything had accents of yellow--the back splash on the sink, the trim along the dishwasher and even the mixer was about the color of the backside of a honeybee. Despite her decorating sense, she was a good cook and he had always joked that that was the only reason their marriage had lasted as long as it did.

He leaned against the counter and pulled a toothpick out of the ceramic cow statue that held about three hundred of them. She brushed the crumbs and any leftovers into the trash before practically throwing the plates into the dishwasher—Tig feared something was going to break.

“You know, you invited me.” He said and she jumped.

“Shit—Alex,” she whispered in surprise. She dropped another plate into the grooves of the bottom rack and stood up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you could try and act like me being here doesn't piss you off. For the girls, at least.” He shrugged.

Colleen was quiet for a minute. She wiped her hands on a dish towel before pulling the elastic band from her wrist and getting her hair off of her neck. Man, she had a lot of hair, Tig observed. She always did. Most moms her age, cut it, made it easier to handle once their lives became more hectic but she hadn't

“It doesn't piss me off.” She finally admitted and he almost laughed. Her faced said she was serious and he kept quiet. “It doesn't, really.” She insisted.

“Then what is it?” He twisted the toothpick between his fingers as he tried not to sound condescending.

She shook her head and turned her back on him. When Colleen was angry or nervous or simply didn't know what to do with her hands, she cleaned. On more than one occasion, when they argued, she had started picking up. One time they were fighting about money and she had started fucking vacuuming—that was the time he had almost spun her around and shook her.

She meticulously placed the extra hotdogs in a plastic baggie, rolled and clipped the chip bags and was wiping down the counter before she spoke again. “SAMCRO still in guns?”

“Collie.” Tig warned quietly.

She ignored him and scrubbed particularly hard at a spot on the stove. “Clay ever close that deal and get business up in Tacoma?”

“Colleen.” Tig said more firmly and she stopped scrubbing. “You're not an old lady anymore. You know you don't get to know that shit.”

“I was never an old lady, Alex. You tried. Gemma tried.” She shook her head. “I took care of our girls, while you and Clay sat in a cell—that's about as 'old lady' as I ever got.”

She was right. Tig had tried. Tried very hard to make her the old lady that she never wanted to be—tried to make her fill the shoes of the woman he had lost years ago in his accident. Colleen saw what he was trying to do way before he did and she had dug in her heels and refused to be apart of it.

“You okay on money?” Tig asked cautiously. He had sent all her could while he was on the inside and when he got out, Gemma had handed him a bundle of rubber banded envelopes, all his checks, unopened and uncashed.

“I don't want your money.”

“I'm not asking if you want it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need it?” She tried to cut him off and he stopped her. “It's not dirty. I still work 8-hour days. Changing oil and busting my ass under big-block engines—I'm offering that.”

If it made her feel better to get the cash he earned at TM, then that was what he would give her. He would keep the gun money, it didn't matter to him—it all spent the same.

“We're fine.” Colleen said simply and gave him a look that let him know she was being genuine.

He nodded, that was the best he was going to get for now. “Tell me if you need some?” He jerked his head towards the back, towards his girls and added, “Please.”

She sighed but gave in. “Yeah. I will.”

The back door slid open and Dawn rushed in. She grabbed Tig by the hand and pulled him away from the counter before exclaiming excitedly, “Come back outside! I have to show you something." 

He chuckled, immediately losing the stern face he had with Colleen, and allowed himself to be pulled. “Oh you do, huh?” She nodded and he looked back at Colleen, who to his amazement gave him a smile, the first one from her all day, before draping the dish towel over the sink.

* * *

 

Tig had spent most of the day in the backyard—it was beautiful out, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel like he was going to melt just by standing on the sidewalk. Both girls didn't seem to understand that he was a bit too large for their swing set, but he finally convinced them it would probably be safer if they swung and he pushed.

Colleen was always quick to caution when they were going too high, but Tig didn't mind, because Fawn delighted in the fact that he was a “much better pusher than mommy”. Dawn showed him her cartwheels and how she could almost do a back flip and only fall on her head about half the time. He was pretty positive she would be bruised in the morning but that was part of being a kid.

Tig was thankful when it finally became too dark to be in the backyard and Colleen convinced them to pick a movie and relax in the den. He would never admit it, but after picking them up for the twentieth time, his back was all but screaming that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

Somehow, Tig had taken off his boots and wound up in the oversized recliner with a daughter under each arm. They couldn't both fit in his lap but somehow they wiggled around until each one had their bottom on a chair arm, tiny legs in his lap and heads resting one on his chest and the other on his shoulder. It was a tad crowded, he was hot but he never even considered telling them to move.

“Dad?” Dawn asked.

“Hmm?” Tig said as he continued to watch the 'Lion King', Fawn's favorite apparently—it had been years since he'd even thought of this movie.

“You look like Scar.” She giggled and Fawn poked her.

“That's mean, Dawn.”

“But nicer!” Dawn protested and Tig laughed.

“It's the hair, isn't it baby?” He said.

“Yeah! See--” she looked at her sister. “He knows what I mean.” She snuggled her head back against his chest and he rubbed her back. He tried not to laughed more and focused on rubbing tiny circles along her shoulder--kids said the damnedest things.

“You're much tougher than Scar.” Fawn said quietly in his ear before putting her head back on his shoulder.

He smiled and turned his head to kiss her hair, “Thanks, sweetheart.”

They didn't say much after that and he realized at about the middle of the movie, their breathing had evened and both were on the edge of sleep, perhaps even drifted off completely. He continued rubbing the slow patterns on their backs and smiled as Dawn gripped his shirt as she rolled towards him more. If he laid perfectly still and held his breath, he could hear their heartbeat and he knew, no matter how old they got, they would always be tiny to him. Tiny and beautiful and his. He felt his heart clench, watching them and silently cursing and thanking Kozik and his foolish, sentiment nature but without it, he could have missed out on this.

Colleen had unloaded the dishwasher and was leaning against the bannisters of the hallway. He gave her what he thought was a reassuring smile but she frowned, a severe downturn of lips that made her look much older.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Come on. Help me put them in bed and then you have to leave.” She pushed away from the wall.

“What?” he asked again, pausing slightly as her cold manner returned and confused the hell out of him. What in the world had he done now?

“Don't argue with me, Alex. Please.” She sounded tired, exasperated even as she picked up Dawn slowly and started down the hall.

Fawn was bigger, but still nothing for Tig to lift her, and he readjusted her as gently as possible before getting out of the recliner and following suit. Fawn put her arms around Tig's neck as he carried her to her room. Where Dawn's was very pink and covered in horses, Fawn's was a tad more calm and more picked up. He balanced her with one arm and pulled back the covers with the other—pausing to smile at the stuffed German Shepard leaning against her stack of pillows.

He handed the stuffed dog to her and she wrapped around it as he pulled the blanket up over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, daddy.” She mumbled. She didn't say 'goodbye' but instead acted like he would still be there when she woke up and Tig felt like he couldn't breathe. He swallowed hard and pushed her hair back gently.

“'Night, baby.” He said as he flicked off her light and pulled the door shut.

Colleen was waiting for him at the end of the hall. When he gestured to Dawn's room, she shook her head and stalked back into the den. That pissed him off. He had done nothing and now she was shoving him out the door without so much as a second glance at his youngest.

“What the hell is your problem?” He said defensively as soon as they cleared the hallway.

“You have to leave.”

“And why? Give me a good reason, Colleen because damn, all this flip-flopping shit is about to give me whiplash.”

“I can't do this.” She said, keeping her answers short and shaking her head.

“Do what?"

“Watch you with them.”

That caught him off guard. Colleen had a temper and was, at times, incredibly selfish but for once maybe her problem wasn't about the two of them. “What?”

She sighed and hugged her arms around herself tightly as if she had to brace herself before she continued this conversation. “They adore you. And it was much easier when I could pretend you didn't give a shit, but you do!”

“And that's bad?” He was getting more confused by the minute. “You'd rather me be in prison and not caring?”

“No.”

“You rather me not know their names and just send birthday cards for the first ten years of their life?”

“No.”

“No? Because that's what it sounds like. Damn, babe, if that's true, why not shut me out? Send me the doctor bills and tell them I'd rather go on runs than play hide-and-seek. If you think that's better, then come down to the club house and I'll show you what that shit does to Bobby.” He felt himself getting angrier on his own and couldn't help it.

“I wouldn't do that.” She shook her head and Tig relaxed slightly—at least they both agreed that Bobby's ex-wife was a special kind of cruel.

“Then what is it?” He barked and shut up after that—worried if he kept going he would wake one of the girls.

“I can't watch you make them giggle. I can't sit here while you pick them up, fix their bikes and tuck them in.”

“And these are bad things because--?” He raised an eyebrow and hooked his thumbs in his belt.

“Because I'm going to want them. Not just today or next week, but all the time...and that can't happen.” She held her hands in front of her like some sort of self defense.

“Why not?”

“I'll never be an old lady, Alex, and you'll never leave the club. Tell me if I'm wrong.” She challenged. He couldn't say anything--She was right and they both knew it. For the first time in years, he thought of the girls, looked at his ex-wife and wished he could hang up the patch. But he couldn't. He made a vow and he wouldn't leave Clay, Chibs, Gemma, any of his brothers—he just couldn't. That was his life.

“Collie,” he said quietly and she shook her head hard.

“Don't call me that.” She all but begged and he backed off.

“I'm trying. There's gotta be a way for both things—the girls, the club—I want to--”

“Don't say that either.” She said through gritted teeth and he could tell she was getting emotional because she wouldn't look at him.

“Why not?” He dropped his hands away from his belt and stepped closer to her. She was still huddled in on herself, brown eyes looking at his boots as she dug her nails into her own arms when he got closer.

He moved his hand up, slowly so she could see it and not be startled, and grabbed her whole chin. His large fingers turning her back to him slightly and she swallowed hard.

“Because I might believe you.” She whispered.

He felt his stomach sink to his knees and he frowned. She hated him because it was easier than to admit she still loved him. He didn't blame her, it was stupid and probably hurt like hell—he imagined he was a difficult man to care for, but she had done it once and vise-versa. “Don't.” She said firmly but it was too late.

Tig wrapped his hand around her neck, sliding his fingertips into her ponytail and kissed her. She stayed as still as humanly possible, lifeless lips and hands at her sides, eyes open in protest. Tig started to pull away but then he felt her hand on his shirt, holding him in place.

“Tig--” She breathed and he shook his head.

“No--”

“Alex.” She smiled slightly and corrected herself. He shoved her back against the front door and she locked it, hands quickly transferring to his hair as he kissed her again.  


	12. Figured You Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig knows he shouldn't be going back and forth with things from the past. But you know what they say about old habits.

Chapter 12: Figured You Out

Tig nipped at Colleen's lips and she opened her mouth, eagerly allowing him to slip his tongue inside and take her breath away. She had always been a good kisser, letting him take over most of the time and then taking control just enough to keep him on his toes. He sucked at her bottom lip and she all but crumbled in his arms.

“Alex,” she breathed again, filling her hands with fistfuls of his t-shirt.

He put a hand on her hip and pushed her back against the door, pinning her with his body as he stooped to show some attention to her neck. She smelled like lilies and a cleanliness that the crow eaters at the clubhouse never had. Her skin broke out in goosebumps beneath his teeth and he smirked.

“Ow, ow, ow, Alex wait,” she hissed, making him pull back like she had burned him. “The doorknob is in my back.”

He chuckled and slipped his hand behind her back, putting space between her and the door. She smiled a bit and leaned up, nosing his head to the side and kissing along his neck. He really wished he would have shaved now, but she didn't seem to mind—when her lips closed around his pulse and bit, he could feel it all the way in his groin.

“Bedroom?” She whispered by his ear and he was already way ahead of her.

Colleen's bedroom was at the end of the hall. She walked him backwards and kept him quiet as they passed the girls' rooms by keeping his lips busy with her own. He locked the door and they fell into their old ways, efficiently but savagely ripping clothes off one another, careful not to stub their toes on the chest at the foot of the bed and remembering the places that made each other moan.

Colleen braced her hands on the dresser as Tig pushed her against it. He faced her away from him as one hand went to her breast and the other tugged down her jeans and underwear, one side at a time in short jerks. She managed to kick them off before he pushed her back onto the bed and covered her with his body, lips and hands all finding their targets in the dark.

Tig couldn't shake his sense of deja vu. In this house, with Colleen under him, his brain was telling him to get out and ride as fast and as far away as he possibly could. The second she wrapped her leg around his waist, however, he stopped thinking with his brain.

He slipped his hand between them and found her wet. She gasped his name and clutched him as he groaned against her neck. He'd be lying if he said it didn't feed his ego. Colleen was always ready for him, even when they fought and if he wanted to end an argument all he had to do was kiss her—which usually lead to what they were doing now.

“Collie,” he said against her ear as he moved his fingertips up and down, slowly stroking her. She made a soft noise in response. “You got any--?”

“Top—top drawer. Nightstand.” She cut him off and arched her back a little as he continued to tease her.

Tig leaned back, giving her a look as the answer took him by surprise. They had been divorced a year and she still had condoms in the nightstand. His overactive mind ran rampant with the possibilities and he felt his blood boil at the mere thought that strangers had been in the house with his girls. His hesitation made her open her eyes.

“What?” She asked, obviously disappointed as he took his hand away from between her legs.

“Who've you been sleeping with?” Tig said flatly.

Colleen raised up on her elbows. “Seriously? We're half-way there and that's what you're worried--”

“Who, Colleen?” All he needed was a name and through the clubs resources, he'd find them and then he'd kill them. It was that simple.

“No one! Jesus Christ, Alex. It's a 'just in case' type thing.” She flopped back onto the pillow and put a hand over her eyes in frustration.

The tension in his shoulders left and he moved off of her slowly. He didn't have to kill anyone after all, so, that was a start. He opened the drawer and pushed a few things aside-- a book, a flashlight, cough drops-- and there, like she said, was the unopened box. Her frustration was deserved, he guessed. It shouldn't have bothered him, but it did and the fact that it did, pissed him off. Using his teeth, he tore open the box, ripped the foil, and put one on before finding his way back to her.

“Happy, now?” she said curtly and he nodded against her neck. He settled himself between her legs and kissed along her collarbone slowly until she relaxed again. If he let her be pissed, they still could have fucked and it would have been great—it was always great-- but he didn't want her upset, not this time.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers just as his phone rang.

“You're kidding right?” Colleen breathed.

Tig looked to the nightstand where his Nokia was lighting up and buzzing—Clay's mobile. He stared at the screen, not moving from Colleen as she silently waited for him to make his decision. He let it go to voicemail and he could see the blatant surprise on his ex-wife's face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and resumed kissing her, sweetly this time, barely brushing his lips along her jaw and mouth so she would know he was sincere.

“It's okay.” She whispered. She let him kiss her, moaning softly as he reached down and realigned himself. She threaded her fingers through his hair and sighed, “You know, your foreplay still sucks. Glad to see nothing's ch—ANGED.”

Her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped the last part of her sentence as he thrust inside of her while she was in mid-sentence. He chuckled against her throat, his laugh deep enough to raise goosebumps along her skin. “Yeah, nothing's changed in _that department_ either, doll.”

She pinched his shoulder and he chuckled again, this time it made her smile too. As he started to move inside of her, the smile dropped away and she kissed him. The way she sucked his bottom lip and drug her nails down the spot on his neck that made him thrust harder, reminded him why their marriage had lasted as long as it did—they were great in the sack.

His body remembered hers, fondly, as he kissed and bit every inch of skin that he could manage while still focusing on what his hips were doing. She sighed and breathed softly-- he could tell she was enjoying herself but wasn't quite at her height of ecstasy. He took the hit and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. The angle changed, he knew it would be sharper and she cried out when he pushed up.

“Oh my god, Alex!” she said. Colleen had always been a control freak and the bedroom was no different. She put her hands on his chest and ground down on him hard enough that he was half-tempted to tell her to take it easy. When her nails dug into his chest, however, the words vanished from his throat.

The orgasm took him by surprise as the muscles in his legs tensed and he gripped her hips, jerking her down as a sweet bliss filled his body and was let out in a rumbling groan. Colleen fell forward, her dark hair spilling over his chest as she gripped his shoulders and relearned how to breathe.

“Damn,” he said quietly, covering her back with his large hands. He moved her hair to the side, one section at a time, before running his knuckle down her spine, slowly, content to just hold her. He looked up at the ceiling and smiled slightly. Unable to remember the last time he had had sex with his wife, he would have bet they were both secretly dying to get that out of their system since he walked in the door. It had been quick, it had been dirty and he'd actually fucking enjoyed it.

She rolled off of him lazily and without a word and Tig made himself wait a second before he went into the bathroom to clean up so as she wouldn't think he was bolting for the door.

Naked and euphoric, Colleen laid wrapped around her sheets and he couldn't help but think he wished she looked this way all the time. She was relaxed, worry lines that marred the clarity of her eyes were gone and she looked almost 10 years younger.

He pulled on his shorts and found his pants, digging out a cigarette and a lighter. “I'll be right back.” He held them up and gestured towards the door.

“Nah, it's okay. Just crack the window.” She leaned up on her arms and pointed to the window behind the brass-barred headboard.

“You sure?”

She nodded. “As long as you share.”

He chuckled and he propped up enough pillows to settle back on the bed, cracked the window like she asked and flicked his trusty lighter until it caught. Colleen sat with her back against his chest and his arm fell down around her waist as if it were habit.

“Dad's sick again.” She said quietly, as soon as the silence had settled around them.

Tig took a deep drag on the cigarette, the orange glow flared and felt at place in the dark like a firefly in the grass. He blew smoke out of his nose, slowly and allowed the warm feeling to reach deep into his chest and slow his still-fluttering pulse. “He's been sick for ten years, Collie.”

For as long as they'd known one another, Colleen's father had been in and out of the hospital. He was a hypochondriac and a mean old man who only had love for his daughter. He had never gotten any sympathy from Tig. To this day, Tig was still willing to bet that he was faking to make Colleen stay closer to home.

“Yeah,” she reached up and took the cigarette from him gently. “But it's different this time.”

“How's that?”

“Doctor's say it could be cancer. I just have this feeling that I should go up there.” She turned her head away from him and blew the smoke in the direction of the window, letting the breeze take most of it away.

“For how long?”

“I don't know. I figure it's a sign that maybe I should just quit beating around the bush, ya know? And just—just move up there. Kozik's still down here right?” She tried to pass him the cigarette but Tig suddenly felt paralyzed.

Colleen's father lived in Tacoma. If she went, the girls went with her. “Up to Tacoma. Tacoma. For good?” He was fumbling over his own words, unsure if he should feel nauseous or angry, he settled for a mix of both.

She sat up and leaned over him to tossed the half-finished cigarette into an abandoned coffee mug before looking at him seriously. “It's just a thought, Alex. Even before you started making an effort, if I took the girls anywhere, I would have told you.”

Tig couldn't say he believed that but he stayed quiet. What if Kozik was wrong and everything he was doing was too little too late? If Colleen took the girls all the way up north, nothing he did now in what could be their last month in California would make much of a difference. Her room felt cramped, the sheets were suffocating him and he was racking his brain for a good reason to leave but Colleen beat him to it.

She glanced at the alarm clock before leaning away from him and saying like perhaps she actually gave a shit about his feelings, “You should probably go.”

“Yeah,” Tig said gruffly and slipped off the bed. He gathered his clothes, one piece at a time, pulling on his jeans and letting the belt hang open while he looked for his shirt.

“Alex,” she tried quietly, probably assuming he was pissed at her for kicking him out. “I don't want them getting the wrong idea if they wake up and you're still here.”

He didn't answer, leaning against the chest at the foot of the mattress to pull on his boots. He fastened his belt and shoved his lighter and phone inside his pocket.

“Alex.” She said more firmly. She gathered the sheet to cover her chest before moving to the end of the bed, closer to him.

“It's fine. I get it.” He said and grabbed his kutte. He couldn't look at her, couldn't see her tousled and still naked and pretend like apart of him wanted to stay. This was Colleen—they were split for a reason. Nights like this never seemed to last very long. He managed to stay strong and make it out the door. Colleen didn't call for him, not risking waking the girls, and Kozik was not there to make him go back inside. 

Tig was positive he didn't take a breath until the roar of his motorcycle filled his ears. He forcibly fastened the chin strap and walked it backwards. He was sure Kozik was going to love hearing about this day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus between chapters. As always thank you to Chibsfuckingtelford.tumblr.com for being a wonderful beta. <3


	13. Advice From Across the Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like always, everyone's favorite Scot is there to talk some sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that! Two weeks in a row updating on time! Go me! Thank you to chibsfuckingtelford for being my beta. <3

Chapter 13:

 

Tig parked his bike in line with the handful of others that sat outside of Teller-Morrow. The wide expanse of the lot was dark, saved only by the singular street lamp that hung by the chain link fence. That fence was invaluable, it was the only thing that separated them from the rest of the world and its bullshit.

He unclasped his helmet and ruffled his unruly hair back into its preferred state of chaos before digging out his phone. Kozik answered before the first ring had even finished.

“Where the hell have you--” he tried.

“You at the house?”

“Yeah just got here.”

“Just got there? I thought you'd said you'd be home early for Missy--”

“I was. She's fine. I had to leave again for club shit. Clay is pissed, by the way, because you didn't answer--”

“Just bring her to TM.” He didn't care why Clay was pissed, Clay was always pissed. Kozik probably took the heat for his absence though, and that made Tig pause to add, “Please.” He hung up without another word.

He didn't want to go home, didn't want to go back to the silence out in the middle of nowhere to be alone in his room with his thoughts. He wanted the club, he wanted Missy and he wanted to pass out on the lumpy mattress of his dorm room, surrounded by booze and second-rate hookers because that was what he deserved.

The clubhouse glowed warmly on the dark lot, and he stalked to it like a moth to a flame. Quiet voices could be heard on the other side of the door as his brothers drank, and shot pool in the early hours of the morning, because the clubhouse was more inviting than their actual homes.

Tig thought about Colleen. He thought about her taking the girls to Washington, and that bedding her after all this time was probably the worst decision he had made all week. He needed to clear his head, drink until he forgot everything for at least an hour. And perhaps, he needed to fuck something too-- something that he could use to get off with, then boot out the door as soon as he couldn't smell Colleen on his hands anymore.

Chibs and Piney looked up from their game of pool as he walked in. They stayed quiet as he shoved the door hard enough that everyone knew he didn't want to talk.

The leather couches were empty for the most part. A bottle-dyed blond was perched on the end, nursing a beer and texting one-handed. He had seen her hang around the prospect, meaning she was no one's old-lady. Perfect. He hauled her to her feet by the arm and kissed her hard without pretense, tongue finding its way passed those botox-injected lips as he pressed the front of his body against hers. She bit him, and reared back with a disgusted look before slapping him across the face.

“Pervert!” She squealed and picked up her purse before storming out the front.

He rubbed his cheek and watched as her beer spilled at his feet—what a waste. So much for his plan. He was sure if he looked around, he could find a willing crow-eater to take to his bed, but it wasn't worth the effort. His body was protesting the day of riding and the tension in his shoulders was growing by the minute as his mind raced and weighed down on him. Rubbing his eyes, he started for the hall only to be stopped by a hand on his back.

“Come with me, brother.” Chibs said quietly, accent thick and tired as he steered Tig away from the dorm rooms.

“Nah, Chibs, I just wanna go pass out.” He protested but the Scot kept his hand on his back and continued to lead him like a lost child.

“Nope, you're coming with me.” Chibs' tone was serious, his usual joking manner had been replaced by something more somber as he grabbed a bottle of the top shelf whiskey and gave Piney a nod.

Tig could have put up more of a fight but the Scot was adamant and led him back outside into the cool night air. They walked across the lot, passed the garage bays and its large, red letters that named the place, passed the line of bikes, all shapes and sizes, like a silent pack of lions that glittered in the moon light. And finally he walked through the gate and across the small junk yard that led to the back of the clubhouse. They had made a giant fucking circle and Tig couldn't help but think that Chibs was pulling his leg.

“What are we doing, man?” Tig looked back. Chibs nudged him forward towards the metal ladder on the side of the building. It was more of an abandoned fire escape that served no purpose because one of the rooms in the clubhouse led directly to the roof. Tig groaned. “Nah, man. Don't make me--”

“Climb.” Chibs said, giving him another push.

“Chibs--” Tig tried again.

“Brotha,” Chibs said sternly. “I've got all night.” He jabbed his finger up the ladder and brought his eyebrows together in a look of authority that he often used with the prospects. Tig gave up, looking up the ladder before grabbing the rung directly above his head and hauling himself up. He took his time, arms tired from the day on his Dyna, and because he thought his reluctance would deter the Scot. He should have known better; not a single member was as stubborn as Filip Telford.

Stepping onto the roof of the clubhouse was like stepping into another world. It was quiet, secluded, and dark, but you could still maneuver by the light of the lamp post without having to worry about falling on your face, and it was secluded. It was hard for Tig to believe it was the same building.

“Sit.” Chibs gestured to the ledge off from the central air vent away from the edge of the building. It wasn't really made for sitting but it was the best they had. No one hardly came up here and Gemma always complained that the ladder should be taken down—it was asking for trouble when you gave a dozen drunken bikers access to the roof. She had a point. “Drink this.” Chibs held out the bottle for Tig, while he looked for his cigarettes.

“You gonna put a bit in my mouth and make me call you 'daddy', too?” Tig asked bitterly as he opened the bottle.

“If you're lucky.” Chibs spoke around the cigarette in his mouth as he cupped a hand around the flame. He didn't take the bait as Tig provoked him, he wouldn't be swayed as easily as some of the others if Tig acted like a dick in order to get him to leave. “Clay's pissed that you were gone, but I'm sure you know that.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“That's not why I made you come out here.” Chibs pocketed his lighter and leaned his weight on one of his bony hips.

“Yeah, I figured that, too.” Tig looked at the bottle in his hands but didn't drink it-- not yet.

“You go up to San Jose today?” Chibs asked and continued as Tig nodded. “And how are your wee lassies?”

“Good.” Tig smiled for the first time since he'd stormed out of Colleen's. “Getting big. Funny and smart too. God, are they smart!” He chuckled and took a drink.

“Thank the Lord they don't take after their Da' then.” Chibs returned his smile and walked over to him. “Here,” he handed Tig one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. “Much better than that boxed shite, you yanks are so fond of.”

“Thanks,” Tig mumbled as he took it and the lighter that Chibs offered. “Why are we up here, Chibs?”

The Scot sighed, his face lit briefly by the orange glow of his inhale before he slowly blew out the smoke and said, “Because, I've been there.”

“Where?” Tig raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Where you are brother, where you are.” He paused, hands hanging between his knees, shoulders relaxed and he added without looking at Tig, “You bed your old lady?”

Tig froze. He could deny it but it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he took a rather large drink of whiskey and nodded. “Yeah. That obvious?”

Chibs shook his head. “No, not obvious.”

“Then how did you--”

“Like I said, I've been there.”

Tig knew Chibs had an old lady across the pond, a daughter too, if his memory served him right. He never spoke of her, at least not in the way that would make them think he missed her, like she was the heart beneath his chest or any of that cheesy shit.

Tig rubbed his forehead and stared at his boots. “Then what the hell do I do, now?”

“How was it?”

“The sex?” Tig looked up and shook his head. “Fucking good.”

Chibs nodded. “Like you remembered it?”

“Yup.”

“And how about the time before and after you were shagging—that how you remembered it too?”

Tig took a drag and thought. The entire day Colleen had been how he remembered her, watching him with the girls like a vulture, like he was even capable of doing something that would harm the two of them. She had stayed quiet and curt and held her shoulders tightly enough that even looking at her gave him a headache. The sex had been nice, her body under his hands again, soft and his, responding to his smallest movements. But once that was done, the tension was back, palpable even, and as he left the room he had regretted it.

He stayed quiet and Chibs turned to him. The Scot dug in his pocket, flipped through his wallet and held out a thin photo that had probably been through the washer once or twice.

Tig took it, careful to handle it as gentle as his friend seemed to, and observed the pretty kid by the limited light of the lamp and the stars.

“This Kelsey--

“Kerrianne.” Chibs corrected sternly.

The girl was pretty, with what Tig only assumed was her mother's tightly curled, black hair and sienna skin. Her eyes though, that was all Chibs, without a doubt. Tig held it as Chibs put his arm around his shoulders and tapped the photo with his pointer lightly.

“Why do you think we all hold so tightly to the family beneath this roof?” Chibs started, poking a finger to his feet and Tig shook his head. “Because it is the only family that stays the same. It's the only family that isn't going to wake up and decide it doesn't love you anymore.”

Tig felt like his ribs were closing in around his heart. He held the picture of Kerrianne and wondered if she still loved her dad. What if she didn't? He left—it was possible.

The thought made it hard to breathe, he'd left his girls too.

“I think you've had too much to drin--”

“Don't play that shite with me. Shut up and listen.” Chibs stomped out his cigarette. “You miss your girls. You miss being needed for something that doesn't involve blood and gash and fucking guns. Those little lasses look at you and see more than just a bloody patch.”

Tig couldn't say anything and even if he could, he wouldn't know what to say. He turned the picture of Chibs' daughter around in his hand slowly, just listening.

“But, I'm not just the patch. They know th--”

“We like to think that.” Chibs cut him off somberly. He moved his arm from Tig's shoulders and took his photo back gently. “What you miss and your old lady are not the same thing. Don't get 'em confused.”

Tig took a few more drinks in silence before handing it off to Chibs. The whiskey was expensive, high-quality label that hardly burned on the way down and would have been fucking heaven on the rocks.

One day with them and he already missed Dawn and Fawn. They didn't give a shit that he could hit the center of a target at 300 yards, or that he had been known to crack skulls with a single blow.

He missed that he was the only one with a lap big enough for both of them, and the one with the strength that made him a 'better swing-pusher than mommy'.

His eyes and throat burned and he couldn't blame it on the alcohol. Thankful it was dark. He flicked his cigarette and wiped at his face.

“Tig!”

Kozik's voice carried over the lot and up to the roof as a door slammed behind him. He stood and Chibs gave him a knowing look and another pat on the shoulder.

“Yeah!” Chibs called and leaned over the edge.

“Where--”

“Got 'im up here. One second.” Chibs said.

“I gotta talk to you, man.” Kozik said. Missy barked, leaning back on her hind legs and looking for Tig.

His voice made Tig anxious. He had just dealt with one problem and on to the next, whatever it may be. “Clay?” Tig asked Chibs and raised an eyebrow.

“Probably.” Chibs shrugged. He capped the whiskey and gestured to the ladder. “After you, Tigger.”


	14. Down the Drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tig often forgets, he's not the only one fighting demons.

Chapter 14:

Missy greeted Tig like she hadn't seen him in years. She bounced around his legs and turned circles, tongue flapping out of her mouth, almost smiling as he noticed her.

“Hey baby.” He chuckled and stooped to scratch her ears. She moved to Chibs as he came around to the front of the lot, wanting love from everyone, apparently.

“Well, hello there, lass.” Chibs crouched and ruffled her fur, chuckling when she nosed the whiskey bottle. “I don't think so. Take it up with your Da'.”

Tig shook his head and pointed at her with a smile. “No, heel girl.”

She clearly had no idea what they were talking about, but was content to give Chibs a lick on the cheek before returning to Tig's side. He couldn't help the sense of worry that settled between his shoulder blades as he looked at Kozik. Chibs had avoided talking about the club stuff that went on while he was at Colleen's, but he figured it was in favor of lecturing him about his family.

“You okay?” Tig asked.

“I'm fine. Just fine.” Kozik brushed off.

“Fill him in, Blondie.” Chibs gave Kozik a pat on the shoulder before heading to the club house.

Kozik put his hands in his pockets and waited for the door to shut behind Chibs before giving his attention to Tig. “You been at Colleen's this whole time?”

“Yeah.” He sat on the picnic table and scratched Missy. He could feel Kozik watching him, waiting for him to extrapolate, so, with a heavy sigh, he added, “I fucked her.”

“Jesus Christ, Tig.” Kozik sat beside him and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, I know.” He gave a sideways shrug and pulled a cigarette from his kutte. “How'd it go with Merry?”

“Awful.” Kozik said shortly.

“You have to leave for the club stuff?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Nope.”

“Then what happened?”

Kozik took a breath, allowing his shoulders to droop slightly, before he answered. “I asked her about the Mayans.”

“Fuck. What were you think-”

“Don't act surprised, man. I did it for you. For the sake of the fucking club, right?” Kozik gave the Teller-Morrow sign the finger and rolled his eyes before hopping off the bench.

“Don't blame this on me.” Tig snapped before he could think about it. “What is your deal? Sit down. Jesus Christ.” Tig added.

Kozik moved from the bench and began messing with his kutte, like a dog whose kennel had grown too small. Kozik was the rational one--much like Chibs, he never picked a fight--but for some reason, it felt like he was trying to get under Tig's skin. It was like he had something to prove and it would make everything better to provoke his best friend.

They were quiet for a minute and Kozik settled, leaning on the pole in a compromise to Tig's request. Tig added, “Look if you like her, just give it a couple days then say you're sorry or some shit. It'll be fine.”

He tried, but didn't have much to offer, and they both knew it. His relationship advice was about as useful as a row boat in a dessert.

“Yeah.” Kozik said, unconvinced. He quietly drummed his fingers up and down with one hand in the pocket of his kutte before moving them to the pole of the awning.

Tig almost asked him to cut it out, but took a deep drag on his cigarette and rubbed his eyes. “What happened tonight, with Clay?”

Kozik let out a huff of a breath and mussed his own hair. “Unser got a tip about a cook house out on 44.” When Tig nodded, he continued. “Thought it might be Nord or Mayan, so, we went.”

“Was it?” he asked.

“Nah, man. It was just some old geezer trying to make a quick buck. Barely had a full brick on him.”

“So, we still don't know shit about either of them?”

“Nope.”

“And Unser has no clue who the tip came from?”

“Nada.”

“Why do I feel like there's something you're not telling me?” Tig pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and put his elbows on his knees.

Kozik looked at his friend, face telling everything and yet nothing all at once. He slid down the pole, plopping his butt on the asphalt without very much grace. “Clay was pissed the tip had been fake. He got it in his head that the old-guy knew something.”

Tig didn't like where this was going, but he stayed quiet and stamped out his smoke, watching as the ashes crumbled under the toe of his boot.

“So, he handed me his Glock and had me shoot off the guy's fingers until he talked.”

Tig's stomached clenched in an unpleasant way. “That doesn't add up. Why would--”

“No, it adds up just fine, Tig. Clay was pissed because you weren't there, so I paid for it. Is that how it always works in the mind of your Pres? Because, that's fucked up.” Kozik kicked out, sending a rock skipping across the lot, before putting his head in his hands.

Tig didn't know what to say or if he should even say anything. Clay hadn't always been this vindictive but over the years, but it was pretty damn clear that it was getting worse.

“What did Chibs say?” Tig finally asked quietly.

“He held the guy still.” Kozik mumbled, face still in his palms.

“God dammit.” Tig said and stood up. He walked away from the bench, thrust his hands into his pockets and focused on filling his lungs with enough air to keep his wits about him. Kozik didn't ask for this shit, but here he was, being put in the middle of it, while Tig struggled to get his personal life in order. “They kill the guy?”

“Yeah.”

“And the coke?”

“Split it. Bobby said it wasn't the best, but that it was still pretty good shit.”

“I'm sorry, man.” Tig added, not really sure if he meant it, or if he said it just to make them both feel better. He watched the moonlight glisten on the chrome of their bikes and sighed. As far as he knew, it didn't work like this in Tacoma. Hell, a long time ago, it didn't work like this in Charming, either.

Kozik had stayed quiet the entire time Tig was thinking in the darkness. Normally, he jumped at the chance for Tig to get in touch with any form of sentiment, but when Tig turned around he was focused on the ground with his fingertips playing along the edge of his kutte pocket again.

“Kozik,” Tig raised and eyebrow and walked back, large boots sounding thunderous on the blacktop. “Hey,” he nudged Kozik's foot to get his attention.

Kozik jumped and looked up at him with blue eyes the size of baseballs, “What?”

He gave a short nod. “What's in the kutte?” Tig lowered his voice and stood rooted in front of Kozik, who was still sitting on the ground.

“Nothing.” Kozik said too quickly. Tig took a breath--he had two choices: getting angry and forcing his hand, but that rarely worked when it came to his friend; or talking him down gently, like some sort of frightened animal.

“Koz,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

Kozik looked at Tig's hand. His breath came out in ragged puffs through his nostrils, seemingly weighing his options. He knew Tig was more than ready to handle things if he threw the first punch. Kozik gave in, muscles uncoiling and shoulders slumping as he looked at his boots and reached into his pocket. He dropped the bindle of freshly cut coke into Tig's hand. Tig closed his fingers around it tightly as he worried his lip between his teeth.

He closed his eyes as he let out a disappointed growl, “Kozik.”

“I know.”

“No, I don't think you do. Who gave this--”

“No one. Chibs knows better--can't get anything past the bastard--” He sighed and continued to study the ground. “I took it.”

“God dammit,” Tig started. “God dammit--”

“I'm sor--”

“No. Don't even. I thought we were done with this shit, man!” Tig snarled, feeling his blood pressure rising. He wanted to grab the blonde by his kutte and shake him. He wanted to put him against the pole and tell him he was an idiot. He deserved it, didn't he?

“Would you just listen--”

“You swore. Dammit, Kozik, you promised.” If they went down this road again and something happened, what would he do? It was selfish, he knew that, but it made him even angrier until Kozik cut him off.

“And you weren't there!” Kozik's eyes grew even wider as he overpowered Tig's rage, breath coming hard and spittle balanced on his bottom lip, before he furiously covered his face. “You weren't—it's harder--”

Tig stopped, “What?”

“It's harder when you're not--you know that. I tried--” Kozik inhaled with each break in his sentences and Tig went to him—the last thing he needed was for him to pass out. “Forget it. Fucking--just--”

“Hey, hey,” Tig mumbled and stood beside him. He put a hand on Kozik's head, it being the only thing he could reach while the other man still sat on the ground. “Enough.”

Kozik turned his face, shaking his head slowly, and gripped Tig's pant-leg so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Tig kept his hand on Kozik's fine hair and looked at the tiny bindle in his open palm. He was the crazy one, the one that needed Kozik. It slowly began to sink in that it worked the other way around too, leaving him feeling like a complete prick. He took a deep breath, letting the warm air fill his nostrils, and settled his shoulders.

“I'll get rid of it. No--” He swallowed hard and ruffled Kozik's hair, reassuring him that he was right there. “No harm, no foul, right?” He felt Kozik nod and let go of his leg slowly. “Go find Missy for me.”

“Tig--”

“Go.” It was more of a command than a request, but he said it as gently as he could. He just needed him out of his sight for a few minutes.

Kozik got to his feet and went off into the dark without another word. Tig made a beeline for the clubhouse. Without any idea on what to do with Kozik, he focused on the one thing he knew he had to do as soon as possible.

He opened up the small bindle and sprinkled the cocaine into the toilet, and hit the flushing mechanism harder than was probably necessary. Watching the brightly colored package disappear down the drain made him feel a bit better, but it wasn't enough. He had to go to the source of the problem—Kozik. It wasn't like he could go around raiding everyone's sock drawer and flushing their stashes, if the kid wanted more, he'd get more. He brushed his hands on his jeans and jumped as a female voice coughed quietly from the doorway.

“Glad to have you home.” Gemma smiled, arms crossed under her breasts, watching him with velvety-green eyes.

“Yeah,” he glanced to the sink and considered washing his hands--anything to keep busy while she seemed to be strategically blocking the door.

“What are you doing, babe?” She asked, boots clicking on the bathroom tile as she walked into the cramped area and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing, Gem. Don't worry about it.” He gave her a peck on the side of the head and used it as an excuse to maneuver around her.

She eyed him suspiciously and turned, as if trying to catch him before he got away. “Clay wants to talk to you.”

Tig gritted his teeth, feeling his jaw lock into place, as she mentioned her husband. He was the reason Kozik was probably fighting a break down out in his jeep, part of the reason his ex-wife kicked him out of the house earlier, and numerous other things that Tig had no problem blaming him for, after the stunt he pulled tonight.

“I'll bet he does.” He growled quietly and walked out the door. He left Gemma and headed outside to find Kozik—he was proud to say, he didn't even look back.   


	15. Not the Size of the Boat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm back! Kinda. I've had midterms and insane amounts of work and Genetics is kicking my ass but that's okay. My beautiful girlfriend (and beta) also came halfway across the country to visit and we basically took a vacation. :D This chapter is short but I'm working back into it. Thanks as always to chibsfuckingtelford for beta-ing and putting up with me. Enjoy guys.

Chapter 15:

Missy's tail swished silently along the speckled countertop. Her brown eyes moved independently of her head as she tried to look at everything in the pristine vet's office, but still not losing sight of her master. Tig sat on the rolling stool and put both of his large hands on the sides of her head, running her ears slowly through his fingers.

“You're a good girl,” he said gently and her tail swished faster. “Yeah, you.”

She had hopped on the table as soon as he gave the command, no step-stool required. While the petite veterinarian felt around her joints and listened to her heartbeat, his girl had stayed perfectly still and waited for him to give the word to jump down. Tig wasn't surprised in the least.

The door opened and the vet walked back inside, clipboard in hand. She balanced it against her hip and flashed a well-kept smile at Tig. “Everything looks good.”

Tig returned it with one of his own and nodded, “That's real swell, doc. Real swell.”

“Yup. She is a big, healthy girl.” She checked a few things off on her clipboard and took some of the papers from the counter. “Plenty of exercise, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tig chuckled and stood, hooking his hands on the edge of his belt. It was one of the prospect's daily chores. On the days Tig was out with the club, Jacob would spend hours tossing Missy's tennis ball across the lot until she got tired-- thing was, she never got tired.

“She should be done growing soon, but the energy will never go away,” She laughed softly and gave Missy a pat behind the ears. “It's a breed thing.”

Missy scooted forward on the table, half leaning off the end until she was close enough to nose Tig. She licked his hand and put her muzzle between his arm and hip, content to just be close.

“Ahh, and she's a daddy's girl I see.” The vet smiled again and handed Tig the bill. “Take this to Susan at the front desk and we'll see you in another few months.” She put her clip board under her arm and gave Missy another scratch behind the ears, “Have a good day, Missy.”

Tig clipped the leash to Missy's diamond-studded collar and glanced at the bill. “Will she give me the stuff up front?”

The vet nodded, “Yup, flea and tick stuff and her new round of heartworm chewables. All up front. And this--” She paused, glancing around the room before seemingly pulling a tiny business card out of thin air. “This is for you.” She bit her lip and boldly slipped it into the front pocket of his kutte.

Tig had to smirk as Missy stood and watched her horny-veterinarian put the moves on her dad. “Don't touch the kutte, darlin',” he chuckled as she blushed the color of a freshly painted fire engine.

“Oh, sorry, I--”

“Come on girl.” He called Missy down to the floor and took her out into the lobby, saving the tiny brunette more embarrassment. Teasing her would have been a good laugh, but sometimes, he was just too, damn, nice.

His phone rang as soon as he cleared the doorway into the California sunshine. With nothing more than an outstretch of his hand, Missy sat beside him and looked up, ears perked and waiting for him to tell her she could move. He punched the button on the burner. “What?”

“You close to TM?” Clay said from the other end.

Tig tensed. They'd hadn't spoken a whole lot since the incident with Kozik. Nearly a week had gone by and not much had happened in the MC, so, Tig kept to himself and left Clay to his anger.

“Maybe.” He shrugged even though his president couldn't see, he felt like being spiteful.

“Don't pull that shit with me, Tig. Got a tip from Unser—legit this time. Want you to take Kozik and check it out.”

Tig spoke before clay had even finished talking. “Nah, man, Kozik's busy. I'll take Chibs.”

“Busy doin' what?” Clay pressed. “He's a member of this club. He'll do what I--”

“I'll take Chibs. Text me the address.” He hung up and looked at Missy. She licked his hand hesitantly and his shoulders drooped. “Come on, baby.” With another wave of his hand, she hopped up and pranced until he opened the door of the jeep.

* * *

 

The warehouse outside Charming had been a bitch to find. It was more of a barn than anything else and Tig was certain that if he sneezed too hard the damn thing would fall down around them. They had parked their Dynas in the grass, boots crunching on the gravel as they came up to the door that was already half gone.

“Wha' a piece of shite,” Chibs said as he slipped his sunglasses off of his face and put on his leather gloves. “Wha' are we lookin' for, Tigger?”

“No idea, man.” Tig kicked a piece of metal out of the way and used his shoe to brush the dirt from an old wooden sign, but it was too worn to read any of the lettering. He wanted to get this over with. It was bound to be another dead end and he still needed to change the oil in the Jeep and against his better judgment he had left Missy with a half-blazed Piney. “Let's go.”

Tig ducked inside the dark barn and gave his eyes time to adjust. None of the windows held glass anymore, and as they cleared the door he could hear crows rustling in the rafters. It was broad daylight and the place still gave him the creeps.

One of the birds cawed from somewhere in the dark of the balance beams and Tig jumped. Chibs put a hand on his gun but didn't draw, eyes narrowing in the direction of the bird. “Mother of Christ,” he said quietly and shook his head.

Tig relaxed. He pulled on his gloves too, as he came up to a table littered in old parts and wooden boards. There used to be order to all the clutter, he could tell, but now it looked like someone had tossed things about to make it seem like the building had been long abandoned. The one thing they forgot—dust. No abandoned, back roads shack was without it and this place was far too clean.

“Got anything?” Tig asked.

“I got a wee bit o'dirt, if you're interested? Coupla' boards.”Chibs moved a wooden table aside and crouched to look under it.

Tig chuckled. “No thanks.”

“Where does Unser get all these tips, ya think?” He shoved the table to the side and walked slowly over a few floorboards, checking for anything hidden beneath.

“Dunno. Cop shit, I guess. We got intel and so do they.” Tig shrugged.

“You think Charming PD is shady?” Chibs raised an eyebrow and Tig kept his back turned.

“All cops are shady, brother.” Tig moved onto a stack of boxes and started pulling them open one by one. “Chibs,” he said as he came to the last one, buried under a pile of trash. Inside were old milk jugs, a couple singed with holes and dusty with a white substance. He picked up a pair of latex gloves and waved them a bit. “Bingo.”

“Prints?” Chibs took them and looked them over. They were half melted and Tig shook his head.

“Nah, but this is enough. They did a good job clearing out the place but they left a box behind.” He shoved another handful of milk jugs aside and found a bit of plastic tubing.

“Crank?” The Scot asked and Tig nodded.

“Looks like.” He moved passed the other boxes, most of them broken down and unlabeled.

“Tig,” Chibs said and he turned back around. The man held a small card between his first two fingers and when Tig got close enough to read, he flipped it over. It was a business card for the Purple Hippo.

Tig took the card and turned it around in his fingertips.

“Coincidence?” Tig asked.

“No such thing,” Chibs shook his head and hooked his thumbs in the leather straps on his shoulder holster. They had found coke when they searched the Hippo a month ago, but maybe that was a cover up. Maybe the two weren't related at all and they had bigger problems? Whatever the explanation, it was a matter to be brought back to church.  


	16. Delicate Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hold church and make a terrifying discovery.

Chapter 16:

As rowdy and trashed as the clubhouse got week to week, the one thing that remained the same was the chapel. It was behind large leather doors, with dim lighting and a wooden table that looked like it would be used for an altar more than for dinner—it wasn't just a room, it was sacred.

Tig and Chibs had made it back to the clubhouse before the sun went down and the others had been waiting by the time they backed their bikes against the railing. The prospect and the couple of workers who weren't members, were closing up the garage, sliding the bay doors shut and locking everything down as the sun began to set.

The clubhouse bar was empty, apart from a crow-eater that was busy stocking the bar. Tig was almost certain he had never seen her before—he would have remembered tits like that.

He took his seat between Clay and Chibs, and the doors shut firmly. Kozik was across the table and for the most part, looked pretty normal—hopefully Clay had stopped riding his ass.

“What'd we get?” Clay said, hands folded on the table.

“Crank,” Chibs said, sliding his glasses on top of his head and into his dark brown hair. “Lot o'shite an' milk jugs, broken bottles. Left n' a hurry.”

Tig nodded, seconding everything the Scot had to say as Clay turned his gaze to him. “There was something going on out there. They got spooked and cleared out. Did find this though,” he added and gave Clay the business card they found.

Clay turned it in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “The Hippo?”

“We searched there already,” Kozik said.

Tig shrugged. “Maybe we missed something.”

“Maybe they went back,” Piney said and everyone looked at him. “After you went and made a scene, then they set up camp in the Hippo. You had already been there, why would you go back?”

Everyone was quiet for a moment as that sank in, a few people nodded.

“If that's the case, then those wetbacks have some serious balls,” Bobby chuckled.

“Who says it's the Mayans?” Kozik chimed in. “Could be Nord--we haven't got a hold of any of them and after this long under the radar, Darby might be growing a set, too.”

Clay readjusted himself in his leather seat, “Well, Happy fixed that.” The crew turned to look at the bald man sitting at the end of the table and chewing on a toothpick.

“Picked up the little bitch in the middle of town,” he nodded slowly, looking slightly pleased with himself. “Spit on my bike.”

The rest of the table groaned, as if they were in agreement that their brother had suffered a grave offense. Clay pulled a cigar from the front pocket of his kutte and flicked a match, flexing his cheeks until it caught and he shook the flame out. He held it between his first two fingers and leaned a forearm on the reaper table. “Figured he might know something. Had the boys get him comfortable in the garage,” he smirked a bit. “Hap, you mind staying and having a—conversation with him?”

“Oh, yes I will.” Happy nodded simply and took the toothpick from his mouth.

“You too, Tig.” Clay added and looked up, blowing smoke towards the ceiling and avoiding the eyes of the man in question.

Tig saw Kozik tense out of the corner of his eye but he ignored it. Instead, he watched his fingers drum silently on the wood of the table before nodding, “Yeah, sure thing, Clay.”

They were quiet for a moment before Piney leaned forward and looked between them all. “Now, if you don't mind, on to happier news. Clay and I've talked and wanted to bring it to the table.”

“What's on your mind, brother?” Bobby said and Piney continued.

“It's time we made the motion to prospect Jax and my boy.”

The way the table exploded, an outsider would have thought that Christmas came early. A few pounded on the wood while others gave cheers and short claps of agreement. The old man smiled, blushing slightly as the subject obviously meant a great deal to him.

“It's what they want, it's what I want,” he paused and looked at Clay. “It's what John would have wanted.”

The President stopped nursing his cigar for a second and pulled it from his lips, his pause raised the tension in the room but he was quick to relieve it. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“That boy of yours light on his feet?” Bobby asked Piney. “He looks like a giraffe that's been ran through the dryer.” The lighthearted jest brought chuckles from a few and took the focus off of Clay.

Piney smiled again, “Yeah, he can hold his own.”

“I'll check the treasury tomorrow and make sure we got a couple of a kuttes that'll fit.” Bobby added and clapped the older man on the shoulder in reassurance.

“Thanks boys, thanks,” he nodded.

“We done?” Clay added shortly after and with a tap of the gavel the meeting ended. “Get your gloves,” Clay nodded to Tig before leaving the room. Happy stood and cracked his neck as a few of the others shuffled out.

Tig stayed where he was, feeling the gaze of his best friend without even looking up. He waited for him to give him grief, to protest, but he didn't, and for some reason that felt worse.

“I'll get Missy home.” Kozik said and left without another word.

* * *

 

Kozik didn't stay. Tig didn't expect him to, and never would have asked, but it still made him feel odd. The sun was long gone and the lot was dark, but the inside of the garage was well lit. They had put Darby's guy in the middle, directly over one of the drains and let him watch as Tig sprayed down the floors and pre-bleached a circle around the straight back chair he was tied to. They hadn't even done anything, but the visual was enough—the guy was sweating and twisting against the zip-ties around his hands—he'd crack in no time.

“I don't know anything,” he said as he wiggled the gag out of his mouth and looked at Tig.

Tig turned and sprayed him with the hose. “Shut up.”

Clay sat on the desk against the far wall, another cigar in his hand. For a split second, Tig wondered if he really enjoyed them that much or if they were a prop to assert his dominance. He kept that thought to himself.

“Just tell us what you do know and we can all go home,” the President said and smileing a large, terrifying flash of teeth.

“I told you, I—What is he doing? What's he do--” The guy said and twisted as much as he could in his chair as Happy knelt behind him and flicked out his pocket knife.

The Son slid the blade under the fingernail on the guy's pointer and ripped it off like it was a crow-eater's press-on. The guy yelled instantaneously and Happy did the same to the next two fingers.

“What did I—I didn't--” he sputtered and Tig cut him off.

“Shouldn't have spit on his bike, man,” he shrugged simply and Happy nodded. The man rarely talked but he became extra silent when it came to getting their hands a little dirty. Tig dropped the hose and moved in front of the guy. He pulled his knife from his thigh holster and stabbed it into the table beside them. “You see this guy?” he pointed to Happy.

“Y-yeah,” the man nodded and turned large eyes on Happy before looking back at Tig.

“You don't want to mess with him. I've seen him eat the face off of a house cat. He--”

“That's disgusting. I would never do that,” Happy interrupted, his growling voice making him seem less than innocent. Tig turned an exasperated expression on his brother.

“Work with me, here, man,” he added and Happy gave a short nod.

Tig turned back to the Nord. “He will skin you and wear you as a robe. You will be next season's fashion statement. You want that?” He shook his head furiously and pulled at the zip ties with little success. “Good,” he flashed the business card of the purple Hippo. “Darby got you guys dealing out of the hippo?”

“I don't know anything about that—”

Tig raised up enough and punched the guy in the face, hard enough that his head whipped to the side with a loud cry of pain. Tig cracked his knuckles and rubbed his rings underneath the gloves. “Wrong answer.”

“You working with Alvarez?” Clay asked from the other side of the room.

“Who?” the guy whimpered and Tig hit him again from the other side. The sound of leather colliding with the bone of his jaw was surprisingly pleasing.

“Mexi-prez,” he growled and made another fist, waiting for the guy to answer again. “The Sons own Charming. Now, if you got a cracker-wetback alliance going on--”

“We'd never work with wetbacks!” The man spit out. Tig bent down, pulling his fist back and punching him in the gut, hard enough he felt the distinct sensation of a rib giving beneath his hand. There was even more pathetic yelling.

Happy nudged his shoulder and they silently switched places like they were tag-team wrestling instead of torturing someone. Where Tig liked to use his fists and more flamboyant things, like the welder in the back of the garage, Happy was more discrete. He had knives, prized and properly boxed like he was some kind of woodworker. The Son was an artist, alright, but he didn't whittle sticks.

The yelling from Darby's guy turned into screaming, higher pitched and full of pain as Happy carved his way along the more sensitive parts of the human anatomy—the nipple, the fleshy part along the armpit. He was heading for the eyelids when the guy started chirping like a canary.

“The Hippo. It's the Hippo. But you won't find drugs. Well, you will. But not like the Mexicans.” He breathed hard and said quickly, incomplete sentences that fell out of his mouth along with pathetic lines of spittle.

“You're not working with the Mayans?” Clay asked.

“N-no. We tried to copy their drug ring. B-but we don't have the manpower.”

“What are you runnin' out of the Hippo?” Tig asked, hooking his thumbs in his belt and shifting his weight onto his right leg.

“W-whores,” the Nord confessed. Happy growled, cutting up the edge of skin around the guy's navel for good measure.

“The merch was right in front of us last time,” Clay said. Darby was pimping out of a strip club, a sickening gig that looked legit because it was being hidden under a pretty convincing facade.

“The whole Hippo is your gig?” Tig raised an eyebrow.

“No,” the guy shook his head. “The strippers are legit. We run a real business to cover up the other one. Half of it is run out of the back of the club, the rest is in any warehouse we can get for a decent price.”

“Your girls get a cut of the cash?” Clay raised an eyebrow and the Nord flat out laughed.

“You kidding? Pussy sells better than coke. If anything, we give 'em drugs and they keep their mouth shut.”

Tig felt like he needed a shower, and no one protested when Happy took his blade to the guy's cheeks. That wasn't just pimping—if everything this asshole said was true, Darby was dealing in human trafficking in Charming--in their town, right under their noses.

Clay was furious. He moved from his seat on the desk and walked across the room, pulling the 9mm from the small of his back. The guy's eyes got wide and he shook his head back and forth rapidly. “No, no! I told you! I told you I--”Clay shoved the barrel between his lips, cutting him off, and pulled the trigger. The bullet burst out of the back of the guy's head—blood and thicker clumps of things plopped to the ground as he slumped back in the chair.

No one moved, ears ringing from the echo of the shot inside the concrete walls of the garage. Happy got up without another word and went to the back—they were going to need more bleach.

“What do you wanna do?” Tig turned and looked at Clay.

Clay's arm relaxed at his side, holding the gun loose. “Tell the prospect to help Happy get rid of this scumbag. Then get the boys.”

“We move on this tonight?” Tig asked.

“Yeah. We eliminate this shit, now. This doesn't happen,” he turned and gritted his teeth and pointed a finger at the floor. “Not in my town. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a ton of mistakes in this one. But Chibsfuckingtelford caught them all because she it amazing. Thanks as always babe. Sorry for my absence, I'll get my shit together with this fic soon. We're back to updating on Tuesdays. Enjoy guys.


	17. Back on the Ropes

Tig sat in the front seat of the black van. He twisted the silencer onto his pistol as Bobby parked in front of the strip club. It was late, the entire area was vacant and they had all agreed to leave their bikes at TM. As far as anyone could tell, Darby didn't know he was one man down, if they could keep surprise on their side for another few hours, it would be for the best.

Tig watched in the rear-view mirror as Kozik ran a gloved hand through his blond hair--he looked calm. Tig knew the best way to show Kozik he had faith in him was to bring him along, act like nothing was wrong and let him carry out the duties of his patch. He couldn't keep the kid locked up with Missy, no matter how good the idea sounded.

“Bobby, take Chibs and go around back. Tig, Kozik and I will take front. Happy should be here with the prospect, soon.” Clay said loading two shells into his sawed-off shotgun.

“We got a plan or are we goin' in guns-a-blazin'?” Bobby asked, slightly irritated.

“Shoot every nazi-lover in sight,” Tig shrugged. “Save Darby for us, if he's even here. Doubtful, though.”

“Try to keep from killing any gash,” Clay added. “I tipped Unser off and according to Charming PD this is a rescue mission, not a turf war.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Tig nodded and smirked silently, still slightly amped from helping Happy.

“Keep your dick in check, Tigger,” Clay snarled and Tig's smirk disappeared.

“Hey, it doesn't come near this,” he gestured to himself. “Unless it's 110% willing,” he finished, slightly offended.

Bobby chuckled and opened up the door, hopping down and pulling his jeans back up over his belly. The rest followed suit. Tig clicked on the safety before tucking his pistol down the small of his back, the last thing he needed was a bullet in the ass.

The Hippo was dark. The lavender, neon lights weren't blinking and the ropes that normally lined the walkway were gone, packed away for the night. Kozik tried the door as Bobby and the Scot disappeared around the corner, it didn't budge. Clay nodded and the younger man pressed his silencer against the lock and fired twice. Two short pings and it popped open—what a shitty security system.

“Wait,” Kozik said quietly and he pushed the door open slowly. Tig started to move and Kozik stopped him, “I said, wait.” The blonde slipped inside the door, pressed against the wall and pulled open a small white box that was about eye level.

Tig looked at Clay and the older man shrugged. Kozik put his gun in his belt and pulled out a pair of wire clippers. He held them between his teeth as he ripped the alarm box from the wall and exposed a handful of wires. His nimble fingers felt along the mass of cords and untangled them before clipping two. With a wave of his hand, Tig and Clay walked inside—nothing went off and the building remained unaware of their presence.

“Good job, son,” Clay gave a genuine smile and ruffled his blonde hair, affectionately. Kozik rubbed the back of his neck and nodded, looking to Tig, who returned with a nod of approval.

The three of them made it across the club, stepping carefully on the hardwood and moving quicker once they hit the carpet. They weaved between the booths and chairs, making it behind the bar. The first time they searched the club, they had found nothing in the back, couple of assholes with a mediocre supply of drugs, a cover up for the real operation. This time, instead of looking in the back, Clay had his eyes cast on the floor.

They moved boxes of booze, turned over booths and bar stools. When Tig kicked the black mat behind the bar, he found what they were looking for. “Clay,” he said and crouched down to trace his fingers along the trapdoor that laid under the bar.

“Pull it up, Tigger,” Clay said and backed up slightly to give him room.

Tig felt around the square edge of the door until his finger dipped into a notch that he pried open. He shoved it up and let it bang backwards on the floor just as Bobby and Chibs came around the bar from the opposite direction.

“Nothin' in th' back, Clay,” Chibs said.

Tig reached back and took a flashlight from Bobby and pointed into the blackness that was the trapdoor. He kicked the ladder, attached to the edge of the opening, down with a firm thud, placing the flashlight between his teeth. Gloved hands finding easy purchase on the wood, he hopped down before his foot even made it to the third rung.

“Tig?” Kozik said from somewhere up above him.

He didn't answer, sliding his hand along the concrete wall until he found the light switch. After the information they had gotten from the Nord, he had been itching to shoot something, anything, or anyone would do. As his eyes adjusted he prepared for the brutal sight of whatever was in this cellar. Instead, he found nothing.

“Empty,” he said flatly. The concrete room couldn't have been more than 10 foot across, it was cold and dimly lit—an ordinary basement. With an empty shelf in the corner, a couple boxes of beer and a keg to his right, it looked like storage underneath a bar. Goddammit.

“What?” Clay hissed and moved down the ladder to join Tig.

“Either we were wrong, or they cleared out,” Tig mumbled as he walked to the opposite end of the room. He reached up and pressed his hands to a set of wooden doors that no doubt lead to the outside, easy access for a liquor truck to drop off a shipment. “Chibs! There's an entrance from the outside, get it open, would ya?”

“You go' it, Tigger.” He heard the other man say as the sound of boots on the hardwood could be heard moving across the ceiling.

“No way Darby is this smart,” Clay shook his head and put his hands on his waist, scowling at the floor.

Tig shrugged and pulled his knife from his thigh. He sank the blade into the cardboard box and jerked it open—nothing but cheap, locally brewed beer. Kozik hopped down with a thud and leaned over his shoulder.

“I've never even heard of this shit,” he pulled up one of the bottles and looked at the green label with disgust.

“Give you twenty bucks to try it,” Tig chuckled and the blonde shook his head.

“Fuck that.” They both joked quietly as Clay stood in the corner and stewed, flipping through his phone.

A shot rang out as Chibs removed the lock on the outside door and threw it open. It gave a squeak as if it hadn't been opened in a long time. He leaned in, kneeling on the gravel and hanging down into the cellar. “Darby's lads won' wonder why we're breakin' in, Clay?”

The president shook his head. “I'll call Unser, tell him we didn't find anything. They'll report it as an anonymous tip on a break in.” He turned and looked at Bobby, “Call the others, and Gemma, get a little get-together planned at TM. Business as usual for the Sons. We got an alibi if Darby decides to go snoopin'.”

The handful of guys nodded as the older man climbed out of the trap door and back into the heart of the Hippo. The tension in the room was palpable after he left; the dead-ends were beginning to weigh on the rest of the club.

* * *

 

Kozik walked his bike backwards beside Tig's, the sound of engines cutting one at a time until the lot was left in silence was oddly calming. It was dark, they were tired and still had nothing to show for their work.

“We skippin' church?” he asked as Clay took off his helmet and stalked passed all of them.

“Yeah, fuck it,” the president growled and slammed the office door behind him.

“What th' bloody 'ell is that gash doin' here?” Chibs said as he swung his leg over his bike and pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his kutte.

All of the boys turned their heads as the stripper from the Hippo got out of her car. Tig felt his jaw tighten as Kozik got off his bike. The younger man hadn't seen her since their date from hell and it had been too much to for Tig to hope for that the kid would have moved on. She pulled her jacket around her shoulders tightly as she made it to the row of bikes under the streetlamp.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked, question obviously aimed at the blonde.

“Talk,” Tig snapped and crossed his arms over his kutte. Kozik glared at him but he ignored it. Whatever she had to say could be said right here, it was late and he had no patience, especially for her.

“It's about the club,” she tried again. Kozik stood straighter, hands falling to his sides as he realized she wasn't here to apologize. Bobby nodded for her to go on and she huddled in her jacket again. “You asked me before if there was anything...odd, going on?”

“Yeah?” Kozik said, urging her to continue.

“What'd you see, darlin'?” Bobby added.

She shook her head. “Nothing, I mean, I haven't seen anything exactly. It's just tense all the time and girls are constantly leaving. Georgia quit and she loves that place--”

Tig had no clue who Georgia was and he didn't care. He didn't care about their girl-talk and how she suddenly thought it was important enough to step foot onto their turf again after the shit she pulled with his brother. “Look, Martha--”

“Merry,” she corrected.

“Whatever,” he shook his head and climbed off his Dyna. “You think something's up at your little club?”

“Yeah--”

“But you haven't actually seen anything?”

“Well, no--”

“Then save it,” he said and hung his helmet on the handle bars.

“But I thought,” she tried again and Chibs stood too.

“We've looked, lass. Nothing's there,” his tone was nicer than Tig's but he still dismissed her as he cupped his hands around his smoke and flicked his lighter until it caught. She looked at Kozik for help--surely he believed her? The blonde stayed quiet and a nasty smirk took over Tig's lips.

“Sorry, doll,” he said, his tone anything but sympathetic as he shrugged and walked passed her. Bobby followed him and Chibs stayed perched on his bike, blowing smoke lazily in the moon light.

Merry ignored the Scot and looked back at Kozik. He waited for her to say something, but she didn't and it hurt.

Bobby followed Tig into the heart of the clubhouse, the rope lights around the bar giving a soft glow to the vacant room. He waited until the door was closed behind them before putting a hand on the pool table and looking at the taller man. “You always gotta be a prick to anything with tits?”

Tig stopped by the bar and turned back around. “Whatta you talkin' about? Women love me.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Until you open your mouth.” Bobby readjusted his belt and walked over to the bar, he didn't want a fight with Tig but if he didn't watch his words, he was going to get one—that's how it worked with the Son in front of him. “The kid likes this one, can't you tell?”

“She's trouble,” Tig said gruffly.

“How do you know?”

“I've got a feeling, okay? Christ, Bobby,” he shut the door of the bar fridge a little harder than was needed, not bothering to pull out a beer.

Bobby went silent, lips pursed as he looked at the patterns on the bar in thought. “We all got a vice, brother.”

“Yeah, but you can't OD on pussy,” Tig blurted. The second it left his lips, he regretted it. The thought of Kozik's addiction left him feeling empty, a hollow burn deep within his chest—Bobby thankfully ignored his spiteful words.

The two were silent for a moment, listening to the hum of the fridge and the peaceful silence that filled the vacant bar. Bobby, calm as always, spread his hand on the bar and looked at Tig. “All I'm sayin',” he put his glasses in the pocket of his kutte. “Is take it easy on him. You can't tell, but that kid wants nothin' more than to do you proud.”

Tig bit the inside of his cheek in thought, he scratched the dark scruff on the underside of his chin—anything to keep the other Son from knowing what he was thinking. Once Bobby knew he wasn't going to say anything, he left the bar with quiet footsteps down the hall, to the dorm rooms.

He heard a car starting outside on the lot and watched as Kozik put his hands in his pockets and lazily kicked a rock. Since when did he feel so responsible for someone else?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back! Kinda! It's summer! And thank you all for being so patient!! -hugs-


	18. Trouble Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay has a crazy idea to help the club and Kozik gets more than he bargained for at the club party.

Chapter 18:

Tig watched over the bottom of his beer as he tipped it to his lips, his eyes narrowing into another scowl. He was starting to get a headache between his eyebrows, but he didn't care. As he watched the blonde gash hang all over Kozik, his face couldn't make a different expression.

The boys had rolled out the picnic tables, lit fires in a few of the metal barrels and cranked up the stereo with all the greatest hits of his generation—deep, bluesy rock that made him want to do shots and bury himself in sweet pussy. He should have been enjoying himself, but he wasn't, and he blamed that bitch.

“You thinkin' about suckin' his dick?” Clay asked as he sat down on the bench across from Tig.

“What?” Tig barked and set his beer down harder than was probably needed.

“Untwist your panties and leave him alone,” the president said with a judgmental look to his sergeant at arms.

“She's--”

“Trouble. I know, I know.” He jabbed a large finger at Tig and moved to block his view of the two blondes. “You got more important shit to worry about than some sweet-butt pushin' up on a brother.”

Tig put his arms on the table, hunching his back slightly and nodding. “Yeah, fine. What's up?”

“Alvarez.”

“The Mexi-prince?” Tig raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Clay nodded. He felt in his pockets for a cigar and came up empty handed.

“What about him?”

“Thinkin' about a sit down.”

Tig felt his jaw start to drop and he quickly exchanged the motion for curling his lip into a snarl. Their leader had gone fucking insane. The Sons stayed in Charming, they let rival clubs blow each other up, and they did not deal with the bullshit of one pompous wetback and his taste of Nazi-money.

“If by 'sit down' you mean, 'meet up and put a bullet through his skull', then yeah, bring it--”

“We don't need bullets, Tigger. Not yet--”

“Then why th' hell are ya talkin' to me?” Tig snapped and Clay gave him a look. He didn't apologize, but he did shrink back just a bit. Clay was his friend, his brother in every sense of the word, and that came before his rank in the club.

“If we had to deal with one—Darby or Mayan--”

“Neither,” Tig shook his head. “Kill 'em both, an' put 'em in the ground. No trace.”

Clay clenched his fist. Obviously, Tig's get 'em and skin 'em attitude was trying on his patience. It shouldn't have surprised him—it's what Tig did best. He forced himself to stay quiet and let Clay say his piece.

“Mayans have always dealt in drugs. Our money's in bullets, theirs is in powder. If Darby is dealing in unwilling, illegal pussy, then we might have backup from an unlikely source,” Clay kept his voice even and paused when a stray member or crow-eater would amble past the picnic table.

“Enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Tig offered and Clay nodded.

“Some shit like that, yeah.”

Tig scratched at the scruff on his neck and leaned back a bit, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You soundin' like Elvis.” He nodded his head across the lot to Bobby and Clay glared at him.

“Don't make me shoot that damn smirk off your face,” the older man teased and Tig's lip curled up slightly.

“We takin' it to the table?”

Clay nodded. They'd bring it up for a vote, ask the boys if such a crazy idea was even worth entertaining. Tig didn't like it. But then again, he didn't like the idea of Darby selling sex on the streets of his town. This 'lesser of two evils' bullshit was starting to get on his nerves.

“Gemma wants to know how it went with your ex-wife the other day,” Clay said, trying his best to pretend like he didn't care. He knew Tig was probably trying to forget the entire thing.

“I'm not getting remarried, if that's what you're askin',” Tig played it off as a joke.

Clay laughed, a deep sound, followed by a shake of his head. “Good to know, Tiggy. Good to know.” He stood up and looked down at Tig with a stern look. “Go get in a fight, go get your dick sucked. I don't care. Just stop over thinkin' all this shit.”

Tig put two fingers to the corner of his brow and moved them forward in a lazy salute. “Sure.”

He waited for Clay to disappear into the crowd of bikers and stragglers. He straddled the bench and put two fingers inside his mouth and whistled hard. There was barely a pause in the people around him at the noise, but his intended target had heard it and she came bounding across the lot, tongue flopping off to the side.

Missy launched herself up onto the bench between his legs and gave him a lick on the cheek, tail thumping against the wood.

“Where ya been?” he asked as he rubbed the scruff of her neck and chest.

She nosed his face and then leaned her head down to nose his kutte, paws balancing on his thighs as she hunted for treats and affection. She rooted against his pocket and he had to shove her back slightly in fear of falling off the bench.

“What are you doing?” he laughed and thought about their day at the vet. He stroked her ears and smiled slightly. “Think I should call your vet?” She tilted her head slightly at the 'v'-word. “Ya know, if I can make her cum hard enough, we might get a discount on your next appointment.”

He laughed at his own joke and Missy just looked at him. “Yeah, you don't care, do ya?”

He got off the bench and snapped once and she was instantly at his side, walking at his speed, alert but still focused on her master. Who needed an old lady, when he had her?

* * *

 

The sounds of the party were muffled through the door of the dorm room. The soft clinking of beer bottles, laughter of good fun, and the distinct 'crack!' of the pool table were a distant memory as Kozik picked Merry up and had her wrap her legs around his waist

Her fingers were in his hair, her thighs clenched around him and he was having a hard time seeing straight. She had let him apologize, and in the heat of the moment, nothing more was said about anything weird she had seen at the Hippo. He wanted to believe her, he did, but they had looked and came back empty handed. The boys wouldn't let him lead them on a goose chase just so he could get laid.

Kozik tumbled her onto the lumpy mattress and covered her with his body to kiss at her neck. She smelled of clean soap and it was slightly masked by the smoke and other smells of the club, which meant he just had to bury himself closer to get the scent. It was like a game, and he loved it.

Merry coaxed him onto his back and straddled his waist, flipping her hair back as she leaned up and smiled. “Hey,” she said, pausing their frenzied groping long enough to speak. “Wait a sec,” she said and leaned over to grab her clutch purse on the nightstand.

He wanted to pull her back down and kiss her again. It made him feel seventeen, like some horny teenager that couldn't keep his hands off the girl that invited him over for movies and necking on her parent's couch. It made him smile.

She dug around for a minute and pulled out a clear, plastic bag that could have fit in her palm. “Do you trip?”

His smile left.

His whole facade of wanting to fool around with her and the feeling that went with it, came to a screeching halt and it made him motion sick.

“No,” he tried feebly. “I mean—yeah—but. Get out.” He didn't know what else to say, what else to do. He just knew that she needed to leave.

“Whoa,” she said, laughing slightly as he caught her off guard. “It's okay. They're small.” She opened the bag and took out one of the round pills that looked like candy in the dark light. As she took his hand and turned it over to place it in his palm, he felt his heart start racing. The room was too small and all the air inside it seemed to have vanished.

“Merry,” he tried and she shook her head.

“Look,” she swallowed one and tossed her purse on the dresser. She smiled, soft and sweet like she was offering him pie instead. “You're fine,” she breathed against his cheek before planting a soft kiss in the same spot.

He glanced at the thing in his hand. It had been a long time, but not long enough that he didn't miss it. Part of him did, and that scared the shit out of him.

He bit his lip and shook his head, feeling like he couldn't form a full sentence to save his life. “But, Tig--”

“What about him?” Merry interrupted and raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow in confusion. She didn't get it. Didn't understand his loyalty to a man that scared her to death, he understood that, but how could he explain something like that?

She slipped her tank top off and tossed it to the floor. With nimble fingers, she reached back and unhooked her baby-pink bra before letting it join her top, forgotten and disregarded like most of his good judgment at the moment.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, gulping at the sight of her small, perky breasts. They were pale and perfect, with a blush of a deep pink in the middle around her nipples—he wanted them in his mouth.

“I promise you'll be okay,” she took the pill from his hand. “This one just makes you feel drunk without the hangover.” She placed it between her lips and leaned in.

He hesitated, but when she pressed her body and lips to his, he responded as if he was on auto-pilot. His arms wound around her waist and he opened his mouth slightly. The pill hit his tongue and he swallowed it. She smiled against his mouth and whispered her approval as he laid back on the bed and brought her with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's cutting it close, but it is still Tuesday. I made it! Enjoy guys. The inspiration bug has not bitten a lot lately.


	19. Don't Call Her That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Damn, its been a long time! I'm so sorry, but this semester was rough, but I made it out okay. I missed this story so much and I missed all of you! Enjoy!

Kozik leaned forward on the handlebars of his bike, From his spot on the edge of the parking lot, he looked over his shades and watched for any sudden movement. The club had voted, it had passed, but he didn't have a good feeling about this diplomatic bullshit. None of them did.

Tig hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, balancing his hands against the front of his jeans. Missy sat by his side, ears pointed, body still and alert. She had ridden in the van with Piney. The old man was supposed to take it easy with the riding after his knee surgery. He hadn't been happy about it, but there was also the chance they would need the van if a few of the Mayans needed to go home in body bags.

“You're late,” Clay said as Alvarez walked up from the opposite side of the park. It was the middle of the day, plenty of light, and in the middle of such a peaceful place, there were plenty of witnesses.

Missy turned her head as the laughter of kids carried over the pond, she looked at Tig as if she wanted to play, but thought better of it. It made him break his hard-ass composure for a split second to scratch her ears.

“Apologies, amigo,” Alvarez said with a mustached grin as two of his men flanked him.

Tig sized him up. He was young, pretty young to be the head of a rapidly growing charter, but, hey, he didn't vote for the guy. Age didn't mean you didn't have balls.

“Been hearin' you got plans in my town?” Clay said. He voice was calm even if his words were a little accusatory.

“Charming is quiet. I like it here,” Alvarez nodded around the park. “Think we might stay.”

“It's a free country,” Tig shrugged and the Mexican-president looked over at him.

“We got rules around these parts... _amigo_ ,” Clay continued, shifting his weight to his opposite leg slightly. “You're welcome to stay, but you deal outside the border. Cutting, packaging, distributing—don't matter. You do it outside city lines.”

It was civil but anyone with a brain could have heard the very uncivil threat that lay under the words. You broke the rules in Charming, the Sons took care of the problem—simple as that.

“Who said anything about drugs?” Alvarez played dumb and Clay grit his teeth.

“Don't fool with me, son,” the President said. “This is your one warning.”

“So, it's a warning now?”

Tig tensed and Missy felt it. Her ears pressed back against her head and she stood, dark eyes focused on the Mexicans. Everyone took a collective pause and Alvarez turned his attentions to Tig.

“That your bitch?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Don' call her that,” he gestured to Missy. “She's a patched member. Can't find a kutte that fits.” He shrugged and grinned. Alvarez didn't think it was funny.

“Look,” Clay brought their attention back and tried again. “I got no problem with color. Brown, black, whatever—but you respect the turf. The Sons have Charming. Getting in bed with Darby to take it--”

“Tha' Nazi _capullo_? What's this got ta do with him?” Alvarez looked genuinely surprised and it made Clay and Tig look at one another.

Clay pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. “We got info that you got a pretty sweet little set up goin' with white to get product into town.”

Alvarez laughed and the sound in such a tense setting was strange. Tig gripped his belt a little tighter.

“Your intel' is shit, Esse. Why would I do business with him? Surely you guys are smarter than that.”

“Busted small time drug set up at the strip joint off 44. Scared the shit outta some Mexicans—you sayin' those weren't your guys--” Tig tried and Alvarez cut him off.

“Just 'cus they're brown, don't mean they're mine,” he added.

“You white-boys are somethin' else, man,” the guy on the right of Alvarez laughed and Tig clenched his fists slightly.

“Mayans stay clear of Darby an' his crew. We're not desperate. I run a business, Clay, an' he would be bad for it.” Alvarez shrugged.

Clay looked at Tig. Tig tried to look confused without appearing weak. If they were wrong about the Mayans being in bed with Darby, then that put them back at square one. Fuck.

“We done?” Alvarez asked and Clay nodded.

The other MC walked back from the way they came and Clay stayed quiet. Tig walked up to him as Kozik and Piney came out onto the grass. He lowered his voice.

“I don' like this, man. I don't trust those pricks--”

“I know.”

“If Darby isn't getting his crank from the Mayans then where's it coming from? They smart enough to cook it—nah, no way. And, if so, then we got even more issues--”

“I know! I know, Jesus, Tigger.” Clay looked at him and then rubbed his eyes. “Fuck.”

“Whatta we do now?” Kozik said, standing next to Missy and crossing his arms over his chest.

“We back track,” Piney chimed in, gruffly. “Find that cook house and take him out through his main supplier.”

“We haven't even seen the prick in weeks,” Tig added. “I say we find him.”

“And do what?” Clay asked, throwing his hands up, slightly. “Kill him?”

“That's always an option,” Tig nodded without hesitation and Clay cursed again. “I'm just sayin',” Tig continued. He made a gun with his first two fingers and popped his thumb as the metaphorical trigger. “Problem solved.”

Clay rolled his eyes, but they all knew that Tig had a point. “Get back to TM. Gemma's probably buried in oil changes and the prospect is shit under the hood.”

“Gotta keep mama happy,” Tig said with a smile and Clay nodded.

 

* * *

 

Missy hopped out of the van and ran to the office of Teller-Morrow. Gemma was waiting with a smile and a handful of treats as the shepherd bounded up to her waiting affections.

Tig backed his bike up slowly and cut the engine. He didn't feel like going back to work and the garage didn't look _that_ busy. Perhaps he could sneak into the clubhouse and hope that there was still some of Luann's pie left in the fridge.

Kozik backed up beside him and climbed off. The kid had had a weird look on his face for the last two days and Tig couldn't seem to figure out why.

“Everything okay?” Tig asked as he hung his helmet on the handlebars and waiting for Kozik to fall into step behind him.

“Yeah,” Kozik said after a moment of silence. “Yeah, I'm good. We goin'--?” He gestured to the garage and Tig shook his head.

“Fuck that shit, man,” Tig chuckled. “I'm starving. Let the new kids get it.”

Kozik smiled slightly and followed him into the clubhouse. This early in the day, the place was pleasantly empty, pool table racked up, bar fully stocked—it was as if the entire building was waiting to welcome home its road-weary boys.

Tig walked around the bar, drumming his fingers on the black counter top before ducking his head into the fridge and poking around. They had about twenty different condiments and three hundred bottles of beer. Classy.

“Beer?” Tig asked. Kozik shook his head. Tig found the foil-wrapped pie he had been hunting for--still good, if slightly crusty from being a few days old. “Pie?”

“Nah,” Kozik said as he shook his head again.

“Okay,” Tig plopped the tin on the counter and started poking around for a fork. “What gives?”

“What do ya mean?”

“You've had this look on your face since the party,” Tig scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned, trying to imitate Kozik the best he could. “And now you turn down pie? What gives?”

Kozik didn't laugh at Tig's humorous attempt to mimic his face. He hopped up on the bar stool and clasped his hands onto of the bar, thinking quietly. “Nothing. It's just—it's just been a hard week.”

Tig gave up his hunt for the fork and gave his best friend his attention. “A hard week or a _hard_ week?” He asked, putting emphasis where it was needed.

“The second one,” Kozik said. He rubbed his eyes and stopped suddenly to point at Tig. “Don't give me that look.”

“What? I didn't say nothin',” Tig tried, holding his hands up in defense.

“You didn't have to.” Kozik sat up a little straighter and shook his head. “Look, I'm gonna have shitty weeks. It's gonna happen. Don't look at me like you pity me. All that does is make me want to punch you in your oversized beak.”

Tig nodded. He could understand that. What he couldn't understand was what Kozik was having to deal with. They all had a vice, wasn't that what Bobby had said? Somehow he felt like his love of pussy and Koz's love of a needle were two very different things.

He looked down at the pie, momentarily forgotten for more serious things, and he crumbled a bit of crust between his thumb and pointer finger. “Do you miss it?” he asked. He had never asked. He had never wanted to ask, and maybe, that had been a mistake.

Kozik looked at him, surprised at first, but it gave way to thoughtfulness. “Every goddamn day.”

“Whatta ya do?”

“Try and think of anything else,” he shrugged like it wasn't a big deal but Tig knew otherwise. “Try not to think about the smell, or the way it made me feel.”

“You don't need it, Koz,” Tig offered.

“Is this the part where you tell me 'I'm better clean'? Or it's not worth my pretty skin?” Kozik said bitterly and laid his arms face up on the bar, nodding to his veins. He shrunk back slightly and sighed. “Sorry, I know you're tryin' to help.”

Tig kept his head turned down but let his eyes look up to the blonde across the bar. “Keep me posted. Promise?”

Kozik nodded. “Yeah.”

The door opened and Missy barreled in with Gemma close behind. The woman pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and walked with a purpose, heeled boots clicking on the hardwood.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” she said. “Clay in here?”

“Dunno,” Kozik shrugged and Tig shook his head.

“Gem, we got any forks in this damn place?” Tig gestured to the foil as Missy came and nosed his leg.

“Third cabinet, second shelf, baby,” she said, instantly switching into mother-hen-mode the second one of her boys needed something. It was a skill many of them admired. Tig smiled.

He turned around and rifled through the shelf until he found the box of plastic cutlery she was talking about. Missy continued to nose his boots and eventually her muzzle found it's way to the counter, where she sniffed until it bumped the foil tin.

“Hey! Cut it out,” Tig scolded and turned quickly to shoo her. His hold on the box slipped and his arm knocked the pie into the floor. He watched as the thing he had thought about eating practically all day landed face down and Missy started lapping it up. “You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me.”

Kozik howled with laughter at the comical look of disappointment on Tig's face as he leaned over the bar and watched the dog. “Well, that sucks.”

Tig glared at him. He stooped and dipped his fingers in the filling only to fling it up at Kozik. The blonde ducked and laughed again as it landed off to the side. “Punk,” Tig growled, lips turning up in a slight grin.

“Asshole,” Kozik chuckled. He looked down and smiled at the whipped cream that covered half of Missy's black snout as she continued to lick and her tail wagged at full speed. “That good, baby girl?” he cooed.

“Hey, hey! Enough, enough,” Tig shoved her back with a large hand on her chest. Her paws slid easily on the hardwood floor and he snatched the tin and tossed the destroyed dessert up on the counter. From his position on the floor, he was on the same level as her big, brown eyes. Her tongue hung to the side, mouth open in a dog-like smile. When he gave her his attention, her tail wagged harder. “You shithead,” he laughed, managing to turn what was usually an insult into a term of endearment. It all sounded the same to her.

She leaned forward and licked his face almost as enthusiastically as the people-food, smearing whipped cream on him in the process.

“Get off!” Tig laughed and leaned back against the fridge. His protests were in vain, however, and Missy peppered him in kisses. Much like any old lady, what Missy wanted, she normally got.

 


	20. The Queen Watches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to everyone! Enjoy! As always, thank you to Chibsfuckingtelford for being my beta. And Comments and thoughts and general love would be an awesome present! -wink wink nudge nudge- :D

 

Tig hated mornings. The weekend was over, the garage was open, and it took all he had to drag his sorry ass out of bed in hopes that one of the crow-eaters had made a decent pot of coffee.

The door to his room was cracked open and Missy was nowhere to be found. Gemma had most likely coaxed her from his room with a bowl of food and an early-morning potty break. It was no secret, out of all the females that roamed these halls, Gemma's favorite wasn't even human. Maybe it was because Missy couldn't speak, couldn't say anything stupid to piss off the queen bee. Even if she could, it was likely she had more brain cells than a lot of Luann's friends.

He found a pair of jeans and pulled them on, staring at his reflection as he brushed his teeth and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He found his work shirt crammed into the top drawer, only slightly wrinkled, and after a quick sniff-check, he shrugged it on and took his sweet time doing the buttons. 

The clubhouse was quiet, the prospect was hard at work sweeping the floor free of peanut shells, beer bottles, and other evidence of the weekend of debauchery.

“Hey, Prospect,” Tig barked as he finished buttoning his shirt. “You missed a spot,” he said, knocking a couple of beer cans onto a clean spot on the floor.

He chuckled as the kid bit back a smartass remark and continued sweeping. His year as a grunt was almost up, if he didn't hang in there this close to the end, then he wasn't worthy of the patch.

Tig looked down as he entered the kitchen and heard Missy crunching happily on her kibble, her collar clanged against the metal bowl as she tried to get every last morsel like she thought she would never eat again.

“Mornin' baby,” he said, walking over to the coffee pot.

The dog raised her head and looked at him before going right back to what she was doing.

“Rough night?” Gemma said, sitting at the small two top in the corner of the kitchen area. Her long fingers held a hot mug of coffee close to her face as she blew gently on the top.

“Nah,” Tig shook his head as he carefully poured his own cup. He left it black, wanting the full taste of it to shake the groggy feeling of the morning.

“You need a new mattress,” she said. “All those beds are shot. They've seen too much pussy. Can't be good for ya, I keep telling Clay.”

Tig chuckled and took his cup over to the table, setting it down so he could bend slightly and kiss her cheek hello. It was respect, it was adoration for the marvelous woman in front of him, and by the look on her face, he could tell she knew it.

“Are we getting that old that you're concerned for my back?” Tig chuckled and took a seat.

“Old? Speak for yourself, asshole,” she scoffed, taking a drink and giving him a look of disdain.

“You? Nah, never, doll, never,” he smiled and winked over his own cup. He watched Missy as she finished and looked to him in anticipation, wondering if he was going to refill her bowl. He was certain she would eat herself into a coma if she had unlimited access to the bag in the pantry. When he shook his head 'no', she came over to stand beside his chair.

“Your burner went off this morning,” she nodded to the counter. “Didn't answer it, but the I.D. Said it was your ex.”

“Colleen?” he raised an eyebrow and looked back up at her.

“Yeah,” Gemma sat her mug down. “That's your club burner. Wanna tell me how she got that number?”

Her tone was motherly, and he felt like he was about to get grounded. He didn't like the way she did that, didn't like feeling like a little kid by some broad. But Gemma had never been just 'some broad'. He took a breath and kept his gaze level with hers.

“I gave it to her,” he said, flatly. “For the girls, ya know? Just in case.”

“She has the number for TM. She could always call the garage--”

“What does it matter, Gem?” he cut her off and she paused for a second.

“That's a club phone, club business,” she said and he couldn't figure out what she was getting at, but he didn't like it.

“You wanna tell me why you're bustin' my balls about a damn pre-pay?” he put his arms on the table and raised an eyebrow.

She put down her mug and pulled her black cardigan tightly over her breasts. Her rings glittered as she tucked her hair behind her ear and let her hands rest over his arm. “Nothing, it's not like that, Tiggy,” she said, her tone back to being the smooth comfort that it normally was. He felt his shoulders relax a bit. “With the shit that's going on with the Nords, with the Mayans? I don't want her comin' in here and twisting you up. Don't let her, baby. She doesn't deserve the right to be the girl that hurts that big heart.”

She reached over the table and touched the left side of his broad chest with her pointer finger. He looked down as she let it linger. She was right, some how, some way, Gemma always knew what was going on in his fucked up brain.

“Yeah,” he nodded, unable to say anything else.

“Clay needs you,” she said, softly. “This family needs you. Don't ever forget that.”

He nodded again as she squeezed his arm, her touch was as warm as her smile was reassuring, and he felt about a hundred pounds lighter. Missy laid in the corner with a quiet thud and both of them looked to the happily full, and now sleepy, puppy.

“I gotta go to work, get started before Clay chews my ass,” he said, and she let go of him.

“If he gives you any grief, send him my way, baby. I'll take care of it,” she smiled, a thin upturn of her full lips that couldn't have been more confident even if she tried.

He smiled back. “Watch her for me?” he gestured to Missy and grabbed his phone off the counter before heading out onto the lot.

 

* * *

 

The sun had finally started to dip down, but it didn't help that the heat that made him sweat in places he didn't even know he had. Tig wiped his shop rag on his hairline before using it to try and get the grease off of his hands. It seemed like everyone and their dog needed their oil changed today—he'd be scrubbing it out from under his nails for the next week.

“I wanna be able to see myself in that floor,” he nodded to the young kid using the over sized broom to sweep out his garage bay. The kid nodded and continued pushing the dirt into a neat pile.

Tig pulled his cigarettes out of his work shirt pocket before walking out onto the lot and to the picnic table under the large, metal awning.

Bobby was seated in the shade, reading a small stack of papers and munching on some fresh baked cookies. He lifted the plate, wordlessly offering one to Tig as he chewed.

“No thanks, man,” Tig said, in favor of placing his cigarette between his lips.

“You're missin' out, brother,” Bobby shook his head and placed the plate back on the table.

Clay stalked out from the office and over to the pair. From his walk, the way he held his shoulders, it was apparent that he was incredibly pissed. Tig pulled his cigarette from his mouth without lighting it and looked at his friend, raising an eyebrow.

“What's goin' on, Clay?” Tig asked.

Clay stopped and clenched his fists at his sides. “I don't know,” he looked over at the gate as a Charming police car pulled into the lot. “But I'm gonna find out.”

The tan car with it's white lettering always managed to look new and outdated all at the same time. Wayne Unser was in the driver's seat, his partner was nowhere to be seen—he was here unofficially. As he parked, the three men walked around the front of the grill and waited for him to open the door and step out.

“Hey, guys,” Unser said.

Tig had always thought for a man with so much power, and a job that demanded respect, Unser was a mousy man. He wasn't impressive in the least, size, looks, skill. Maybe he was being overly harsh, but he found it really hard to care. He didn't trust much of anything in a uniform.

“Wanna tell me why I got Rosen calling the garage? We got an A.P.B.?” Clay barked and both Bobby and Tig turned and looked at him with wide eyes.

“What!” Bobby hissed and Clay ignored him, keeping his stormy eyes on the officer.

“Not yet,” Unser said. “That's why I'm here.” He put his hands on his belt after he shut the car door and faced them all. “We got an anonymous tip. Pinned the Purple Hippo break-in on you guys.”

“That's convenient,” Tig scoffed and Unser looked at him before continuing his story.

“Caller identified you,” he gestured to Bobby and then nodded back towards the garage. “And Scotty over there.”

“Chibs?” Clay asked.

“Yeah,” Unser nodded. “You got an alibi for last Friday? Both of ya?”

“We were here,” Bobby held up his arms slightly to indicate the lot. “Got about fifty people that can tell ya I never left the clubhouse, and I passed out peacefully in the tits of a dark-skinned goddess with a belly full of Jim Beam.” Bobby rested a chubby hand on his stomach and smiled.

“Yeeeah, ya did,” Tig laughed, large nose scrunching as he smiled wide and remembered that night.

“Well, good,” Unser said, managing to sound like he was pleased with the information. “If you could bring Chibs and come give me a statement—I got the APB on hold and an alibi would make it go away, Clay.”

Clay looked at Bobby and rubbed his forehead in thought. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He waited until Unser had said his goodbyes, gotten in his car, and was halfway out of the gate before finishing his thought. “Bobby, take Chibs and head up there. Take Piney.”

“What are you gonna do?” Bobby raised an eyebrow and looked at the President.

“We're gonna head up to the Hairy Dog. Pay those Nazi pricks a visit.” Clay clenched his fists and kicked a rock rather hard as he turned on his heel and walked back to the garage to get the rest of his guys.

 

* * *

 

The Hairy Dog was a shitty bar that opened up off the downtown square on the other side of Charming. It was the hanging spot of Darby and his gang of scum that had a 'whites-only' mentality and dealt in powdered goods and other things that made them a quick buck. The town seemed okay to turn the other cheek and that was unnerving to Tig. Darby and his crew were a problem, and when Charming had a problem, they called the Sons.

“Looks closed,” the prospect said as he got out of the van and waited for Tig and Clay to back their bikes against the sidewalk.

“Of course it is, numb-nuts,” Tig snarled, putting his helmet on the handle bar and swinging his leg over. “It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon.”

“Oh,” the kid said rubbing the back of his neck. “Right.”

“Check the door,” Clay said, nodding to Jacob and he hustled to obey.

The front was locked but the back opened easily when Tig turned the handle and the three of them slipped in.

The bar was well lit so the employees could see as they cleaned, stocked and moped, only for all their hard work to be ruined as the sun went down and drunken thugs threw up on the bathroom wall. Tig shoved his sunglasses up into his curls and looked around for any sign of life, anyone they recognized as Darby's, or, if they were lucky, the man himself.

“Shit!” a curse came from their right as a blonde man in his late thirties caught sight of them. He dropped the box in his arms with a loud thud and took off running.

“Jacob!” Clay nodded and the Prospect took off without another word.

The kid was fast, Tig would give him that, and he tackled the guy into the nearest booth with ease. Jacob pulled him up off the table by the back of the shirt collar and held him still as Tig and Clay crossed the bar to join them.

“Good job, kid,” Tig said. Those three words seemed simple, but to the Prospect, it sounded like it was fucking Christmas, and the smile on his face made it clear. Tig ignored the look, not having the heart to burst the kid's bubble—for once.

“Where's your boss?” Clay asked, getting right to the point.

“Who?” the bar-hand said and Clay decked him, knocking him out of Jacob's grip. When the kid pulled him back up and made him face Clay again, the older man continued.

“I don't have time for this,” Clay grabbed the guy and bounced his head off the wooden table, waiting for him to stumble before grabbing him by the neck and pressing his cheek against the surface. “You don't wanna tell me? Fine. I'll find that Nazi-prick eventually. But if you see him before I do, then I got a message for your boss.”

Tig stayed by the doorway into the back of the bar, craning his neck both ways to check for any stragglers. All clear.

“If he wants me, come and find me,” Clay growled. “Don't hide behind a badge to do his shit, got it?”

The guy stopped struggling, rolling his eyes up from the table to look at Clay. His nose was bleeding and his lower lip looked worse, but he still managed a nod. “Y-yeah. Got it.”

“Good.” Clay released him roughly and the man sunk to the ground.

“We just gonna leave him?” Tig asked and Clay popped his knuckles but kept walking, hoping Tig would follow.

“When I need you to spill a little blood, Tigger, I'll let ya know.”

The three of them walked back out onto the street, calmly as they went in, and the people of Charming were none the wiser. Clay put on his sun glasses and straddled his bike like he had a purpose. He was wired, he was rigid, and Tig knew that he was in a hurry to get the hell out of here. If they didn't, he'd kill something, simple as that.

“Stay with the van,” Clay said to Jacob without looking at him as he put on his helmet. “Park it a block down and keep an eye on the place. If that shit head leaves, I wanna know about it.”

“You got a gun and a burner?” Tig looked at him and lowered his voice. The kid nodded quickly and patted his kutte. Tig nodded his approval as he straddled his own Dyna. “Don't fuck this up, grunt.”

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are needed and appreciated! This will be slow going at first because I have too much shit going on. But hopefully I will get it rolling soon.


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